


Thinning

by Bellweather



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Fluff, Anorexia, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Developing Friendships, Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, Eating Disorders, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Katsuki Yuuri-centric, M/M, My First Work in This Fandom, Not as dark as the tags probably make it seem, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Over Worrying, POV Katsuki Yuuri, Panic Attacks, Pillow & Blanket Forts, Post-Canon, Pretty much they're sad and they're trauma-bonding, Romance, Self-Esteem Issues, Teenage Dorks, They're Really Trying Here, VictUuri, Victor Nikiforov has some issues goin' on too, Warnings May Change, Yuri Plisetsky is a Brat, Yuri Plisetsky-centric, but you gotta love him for it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:00:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 46,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28224264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bellweather/pseuds/Bellweather
Summary: Yuuri and Yuri weren't too different, really.Sometimes food was just as tough to stomach as broken love.
Relationships: Katsuki Yuuri & Yuri Plisetsky, Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov, Otabek Altin/Yuri Plisetsky
Comments: 79
Kudos: 129





	1. Chapter 1

It was always a standoff. It’s been that way since before Yuuri invited him to spend the summer with him and Victor in Japan. If he were to guess, though, he’d say it’s been that way since before they met at all. Therefore logically, Yuuri didn’t stand a chance at winning one of these standoffs. But to Yuuri, it wasn’t about winning or losing, it was for a much greater purpose, so he pushed on anyway.

So three times a day, everyday, Yuuri and his namesake sat at opposite ends of the little white table of the skating arena’s break room, observing each other, staring each other down, anxious to see who would make the first move. Though these standoffs were frequent, they were never predictable, much to Yuuri’s distaste. Every standoff had a new outcome, each one different from the last. Sometimes they could end tears, other times in fits of rage, once or twice in death threats—either aimed at Yuuri, or Yuri himself— and other times, they could end silence, leaving Yuuri with the worst feeling of uneasiness grinding in his stomach.

At least Yuuri could say he had something in his stomach.

Yuuri needed to remind himself that Yuri never intentionally caused these standoffs.  
That assessment was most likely a lie, considering that Yuri was tenuously infamous for being a pugnacious firebrand, but Yuuri needed to convince himself anyway. He had to tell himself that Yuri never purposefully wronged him, because it hurt less that way. He had to tell himself that he shouldn’t let it bother him, that Yuri was sick, and that Yuri just couldn’t help himself.

It was uncanny how terribly Yuri couldn’t help himself at mealtimes. At any other point in the day, Yuri was the strongest person in the rink. He was a brusque, no-nonsense, teenage war-machine who never took no for an answer. He was prideful in himself to the last degree. He was a stubborn little bastard, and Yuuri found it admirable and inspirational (and adorable, though he would never admit that out loud for fear of being socked across the face). Yuri’s ability to abide catastrophes and still come out stronger in the end was arguably the most enticing trait about him. He was so young, and yet he had already endured more than Yuuri could challenge himself to fathom, and he respected him for that.

But Yuri was an entirely different person come mealtime. It was as though something inside of him shut off. Yuri wasn’t a big talker in general, but during these times, he made it blatantly lucid that he couldn’t communicate at all. Or, at least, he made it clear he _wouldn’t_ communicate at all.

Yuuri sighed, reading the time on his cat-face wrist watch. It was time for round three of the day. He had absolutely no idea how he was going to try this time around. Off in the distance, Yuuri could hear the distinct sound of the arena’s sirens blaring, signaling the evening hour. It was time for the skaters to leave so the hockey team could supersede their places on the ice, since the skaters were forced to share the rink during their off-seasons.

Yuuri admittedly didn’t know his namesake all too well, but he knew him well enough to know that Yuri would be the first one off the ice. Yuri would skate for hours and hours if given the chance, but he had a prominent dislike for hockey players, (probably just because he hated sharing) and always got away from them as soon as physically possible.

So it didn’t take long for the door of the breakroom to slam open and Yuri to storm in, going to a lounge chair so he could sit and remove his skates.

Yuuri summoned a smile.

“Hey, Yurio,” Yuuri greeted in his usual singsong tone, “How was practice?”

“Same as always,” Yuri huffed, unworking the many tight laces on his left skate, “But stupid Yakov says my lutz is off, and he’s been drilling me on it like I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“Really?” Yuuri tilted his head, “Your lutz in the third sequence? It looked seamless to me.”

“That’s what I said. Stupid bastard.”

Yuuri watched as Yuri moved onto unlacing the second skate. He tried not to notice how scrawny Yuri’s fingers were, how pale his knuckles were, and how he could practically see his bones moving beneath the skin on his hand, so thin it moved like paper. Yuuri accidentally stared.

The Russian snapped his head up.

“What?” he demanded.

“Um,” Yuuri felt his face heat up, “I was just thinking.”

Yuri stared with a gaze as sharp as the blades on his skates. His mouth was pulled in a taut frown, and he somehow appeared disinterested, even in his intimidating state.

There was a _ping,_ and Yuuri’s phone on the table lit up.

Yuuri breathed a sigh of relief, saved by a text from Victor.

He gave the teen a quick smile first, to be polite, “Excuse me.”

But his smile fell away in a mere moment, after reading what the text had to say:

**Victor♡:** _Heyyy, yuuri. I feel like such a jerk to send this, but I have to cancel on our dinner tonight. I’m sorry, I know it’s last second._ _  
_ _I’m sorry Kobuta-chan :(_

“Something happen?” Yuri’s needle-edged voice pierced through Yuuri’s thoughts in an instant, bringing him back to reality.

“What, um-” Yuuri tried to be nonchalant about it, “What makes you ask?”

“Come on, pork cutlet. Your face drooped like a puppy’s,” Yuri muttered annoyedly, like he was bored out of his mind with this very conversation, “You can’t act for shit.”

“Oh,” Yuuri smiled a little out of embarrassment, “Whoops. It’s- It’s no problem, really, I just- See, my date was cancelled. I just wasn’t anticipating it…”

Yuri didn’t blink.

“You weren’t anticipating it, even though this is the third time he’s bailed on you?” he kept his voice flat, delivering the question like it was a statement.

“Hey, don’t say it like that,” Yuuri rubbed the back of his neck, “It’s not like he does it on purpose. He’s just, you know, busy.”

“I’m sure,” Yuri muttered, obviously not convinced.

Yuuri was… surprised. He would have expected the teen to leave by now, clinical and pissed off about something menial. But Yuri was still here. Even though his skates were off and his duffel bag was packed, he lingered by, and it was unexpectedly comforting.

Yuuri stood up from his chair.  
“Hey, let’s go out!” he exclaimed. It wasn’t a question.

“Out?” Yuri repeated crossly.

“Yeah, for dinner. Why not? If I can’t go with Victor, I might as well go with you, right? I could use your company.”

“Where?”

Yuuri shrugged, “Don’t know!”

“You don’t know?”

“Well, no. Victor was going to pick the place tonight, but since he’s not- You know.”

“So you just want to go nowhere.”

“I didn’t say _that,”_ Yuuri muttered dumbly.

Yuri rolled his eyes, shaking his head. Just as Yuuri was about to throw in the towel for the day, he noticed that Yuri had a smirk playing on his lips, “Why do I let you entice me?”

“Is that a yes, then?” Yuuri smiled, already grabbing his sports bag in anticipation.

The blonde shrugged indiscreetly, zipping up his hoodie in preparation for the cold weather outside, “Fine, but you’re paying.”

An unexpected rush of excitement struck him from head to toe. It was going to work this time. He was actually going to get Yuri to eat with him. Who would have thought that all it took was a little heartbreak and a cancelled date with Victor to get him there?

* * *

  
  


They walked together, sheltered under the protective canopy of Yuuri’s umbrella. Victor had always gently teased him for toting it around in his sports bag, like a child with a security blanket, but Yuuri argued that it was always best to be prepared, especially for times like now. It was raining today, but despite the melancholy weather, crowds continued to shuffle around the busy cosmopolitan street. Businessmen walked rapidly, barking into their phones to be heard over all the clatter, families scurried around together, all trying to huddle under a single umbrella, and even a few adventurous joggers ran through the rain, the hoods of their waterproof sport-coats pulled tightly over their foreheads.

Yuuri and Yuri, on the other hand, were in no hurry whatsoever.

Yuuri didn’t have a clue as to where they were going. He had left the arena in the heat of the moment, snagging his bag over his shoulder and grabbing Yuri by the wrist, practically jogging all the way downtown. But now that they were here, among the gentle crowds on the rainy summer street, they took their time. They ambled around the downtown area, neither saying a word because Yuri didn’t like talking and Yuuri was too awkward to start a conversation, but the silence wasn’t uncomfortable. Quite the opposite, actually.

As they neared the end of the block, a bright neon sign caught Yuuri’s attention. The sign marketed a restaurant joint with hipster-esque connotations. It looked like it was built to match the gentrified, newly-urbanized sector of the downtown area.

From the outside, the restaurant was quite the opposite of the classic, high-brow place Yuuri had hoped to dine in with Victor tonight.

“Let’s try that place,” Yuuri said. Like before, it wasn’t a question. (His assertiveness honestly surprised him.)

He led his counterpart across the street, still sheltering him under the umbrella, now struggling to shuffle past the crowd of people going the opposite direction.

“Why there?” Yuri asked as they nearly bumped into a woman on a run, who just barely managed to swerve around them before a collision happened.  
“Idiot,” Yuri muttered under his breath.

The woman had headphones in, so she didn’t hear him as she jogged away, but Yuuri offered his apologies anyway. He weaved through the people with more caution now, keeping a sort of protective watch over Yuri as they moved towards the restaurant.

“Why not there? I think it looks good,” Yuuri hummed, “Unless there’s another place around here that suits your fancy?”

He noticed rain pelting down on Yuri’s lithe shoulders, and pulled him in close so that the umbrella would shield him better.

Yuri scoffed and moved away from Yuuri just as quickly as he was pulled in. Apparently he preferred rain to physical contact.  
“I don’t know. I can’t read any of the signs here,” he grumbled, a hint of insecurity evident in his voice.

“Oh, yeah,” Yuuri felt admittedly guilty, “S-Sorry. Um. It’s okay. I’m sure this place will be good.”

Yuri shrugged, “I trust you.”

That line hit him harder than it probably should have. Yuuri felt a small sense of pride kindle in his chest, and it grew fonder when they made it to the restaurant’s front door.

Upon entering, savoury and spicy scents rolled through the air, and Yuuri found himself delightfully hungry. He had to force himself to ignore the splendorous odors so he could focus on closing and shaking off his umbrella. He hung it on the coat rack, along with his rain jacket, while Yuri kept his on. He almost looked offended by the mere idea of parting with his favorite hoodie.

They took their seats at a booth near a corner window, where Yuuri could see the bright lights of the city smudged by rain on the glass. Now comfortably seated, he took the opportunity to gaze around the place. The joint was a nosedive. It was dimly lit, probably with the intent to encourage late night drinking. The tables were tidy, the staff were kind and professional, and the menu offered a wide variety of authentic local delicacies.

He peered over the top of his menu across the table, where Yuri was frowning at his own menu, looking at it as if it were a brick wall.

Yuuri felt his face get hot again, thinking about his own time in St. Petersburg, where he couldn’t read a damn thing anywhere he went.  
“Um, Yurio?” he waved his hand to get his attention, “I doubt they have a Russian menu, but this place could have at least an English translation, what with all the American tourists around here. I’m sure all you’d have to do is ask for-”

“-No, I’ve got it,” Yuri said, using his phone to take pictures of the menu, and then scrutinizing the screen, “Google Translate’s a bitch, but it mostly works.”

Yuuri couldn’t help but chuckle, laughing into his hand to muffle it. When he first met the Russian Fairy, he had been afraid of him for his ill manners. But over the course of their time training together, autumn through springtime in St. Petersburg and summertime in Japan, he observed that there was barely a drop of malice in Yuri at all, that he was really just an endearing kid, despite the rough-edged firebrand he wanted to be.

“Katsudon.”

Yuuri snapped back to attention, “Hm?”

“I think the lady wants our drink orders.”

Blushing a little, Yuuri apologized to the hostess for not paying attention, and proceeded to order green tea for himself, and translating an order for Yuri, who apparently only wanted water.

Yuuri had to bite down on his tongue, pretending that it didn’t bother him.

When the hostess left, he summoned the strength to begin a conversation, “I’m still deciding what to order,” he admitted, smiling tenuously, “What about you? Do you know what you’re getting?”

He could have laughed at himself when he heard the words that came out of his mouth. Yuri ordering food off of a menu. The idea was laughable. Not just laughable, it was downright _funny._ (Or at least, it would be, if it weren’t so concerning.)

Yuri’s shrug in response was robotic, “Don’t know.”

So funny indeed.

Yuuri set down his menu and interlaced his fingers together on his lap.  
“I can help translate if the menu isn’t making any sense,” he offered, trying to ignore the dryness of his mouth, “I can help you decide, too. What’re you craving?”

“Nothing, really.”

“Nothing?”

“Not really.”

“But I don’t think you-” Yuuri pursed his lips to stop himself. It was so funny. (It wasn’t funny.)

Yuri’s eyebrows furrowed, “What?”

“It’s nothing…”

“No,” Yuri bit sharply, “Spit it out.”

“You haven’t eaten all day.”

For a split second, Yuri looked afraid.

But it was only for a second. He crossed his arms over his chest, his hood nearly over his eyes, dinner table manners be damned.  
“I know,” he said carelessly.

“Or yesterday.”

“… I know.”

“And I don’t remember you eating the day before…”

Yuri bore an expression that was almost painful for Yuuri to look at. He looked like he had a thousand things to say, but all the words were bottled up in his throat. With an irksome twitch in the mouth, he managed to spit out, “I ate. After practice. At the house.”

“Did you really?” Yuuri felt guilty for even asking it.

“Fuck you, Katsudon,” Yuri seethed in a hushed tone, “Don’t do this here.”

“Why not here?” Yuuri couldn’t help himself, he was past the point of holding his tongue, “What’s so different about here?”

Yuri gawked, “There are _people_ here.”

“Oh, and you think if we were anywhere else, this would be different?”

It only took a second for Yuuri to regret what he said; sort of. He refretted confessing that out loud directly to his friend, but he meant it, so he almost felt pride in himself for giving the shove he needed to give.

He did his best to keep a straight face, remembering how he was called out for being a bad actor. He didn’t want to show his remorse, not when he made a valid point.

Yuri wasn’t making eye contact. He just crossed his arms tighter, like he was hugging himself.

“It would.”

Yuuri blinked, “I beg your pardon?”

“It would be different,” Yuri spoke with a wavering voice, like he didn’t believe what he was saying, “I don’t- It would be different. If we were at the house. I don’t like-” he cleared his throat, and his directness returned, “I eat at the house. I don’t really eat in public.”

Yuuri set his tea down, and the _clink_ sound it made was disparately loud.

One thing about the (in)famous Russian Punk was that no matter how many times they had this conversation, no matter how many different angles it was taken from, he was difficult to read. Yuuri didn’t understand how someone could be so stoic, especially in moments of anxiety like now. He couldn’t decide if Yuri was being genuine or if he was just making an excuse for the upteenth time; he’s seen Yuri eat at the house before, sure, so he knew Yuri wasn’t blatantly lying, but he still didn’t want to indulge in the latter of the two. So, hoping for the former, Yuuri made a suggestion he would have never made otherwise.

“Let’s just order our meals to-go, then. We can take them back home,” he said. He did his best to impersonate Victor, or Yakov, or any other ice skating coach; delivering his request as a statement so it was indisputable, but being gentle about it to promote encouragement.

He was half-expecting Yuri to stick up his middle finger, but instead, he just nodded meekly, like he wanted to say yes but couldn’t commit to it.

Yuuri was elated, but chose not to show it. He wouldn’t let himself get too excited, even for something as magnificent as the prospect of actually sitting down for a meal with Yuri. Breaking bread was a sterling tradition, one that was near and dear to Yuuri’s heart, having been raised by parents who truly understood the traditional and emotional values that came with food. His mealtimes with Victor, for instance, were transcendent in their merit. Their fancy dinner dates after championship wins, their cozy home-cooked meals in front of the television, and even their secret snack-breaks in the ice rink’s locker room were some of Yuuri’s fondest memories.

So yes, he was excited to dine with Yuri. But he chose not to express it. He wouldn’t risk being too emotional in front of Yuri, knowing all too well how it often pissed the teen off for no good reason. He was not going to spoil this opportunity.

When the hostess came by again, Yuuri ordered a variety of things to-go. One or two entrees, as well as a handful of side dishes. If they were taking the food home anyway, Yuuri figured they might as well stock up on meals. He paid for the food when it came, all wrapped up in recyclable containers and plastic bags.

Yuuri handed the umbrella off so he could carry the food home, and for the most part, Yuri did a really good job with the umbrella. It was raining a lot harder on their walk to the train station, but he still managed to keep them both dry.

When they were on the train, Yuuri asked his namesake to hold the food bags for just a second, so he could use his hands to take out his headphones. Listening to music always seemed to calm him, and that was a fact about himself that everyone and their mom apparently knew.

He couldn’t help but notice how Yuri wrinkled his nose a little, holding the food bags far away from his body, like roadkill picked up from the side of the street.

“Did you order pork cutlet?” Yuri asked, sniffing the air.

Yuuri smiled, symphonies starting to gently seep into his ears, “Is that even a question?”

Yuri smirked a little, relaxing his arm, allowing the bags to hang comfortably at his side, “You haven’t won anything. Victor’s gonna kill you.”

Yuuri’s smile deepened, “He cancelled on our dinner, remember? Victor isn’t home.”

* * *

  
  


“Home” was a one-story house on the outskirts of Hasetsu, Japan, with small windows and a large garden in the backyard. It was far enough from his parents’ house that he had the adult independence he needed, but close enough that he could visit whenever he wanted. It’s been his home for a while now, having purchased it with Victor a few months back; though Victor only referred to it as his “summer home,” because for some reason, he preferred their sizable apartment back in St. Petersburg, for reasons Yuuri would never understand.

Yuri, on the other hand, never called it “home,” only “the house.” He was still a foreigner here. He never called his bedroom “his bedroom,” only “the guest room,” and he always asked permission before going into certain rooms, like a tourist in a rental home. Yuri’s heart was in Russia, and Yuuri would have to respect that. After all, he was in the same boat; even though he spent most of the year in St. Petersburg, his home was still Hasetsu, and nothing would ever change that.

Not even the bombshell that hit Yuuri as soon as he walked through the front door.

Right on the futon in the middle of the living area slept none other than Victor, his arm draped over his face as his chest rhythmically rose and fell. Yuuri was so surprised to see him there that he nearly dropped his phone and headphones, completely baffled.

Yuri made a _tsk_ sound, narrowing his eyes, “What an ass.”

Then he put a hand on Yuuri’s shoulder, “Sorry, Katsudon.”

“No, no,” Yuuri tried to shake it off, “Don’t apologize. He- I’m sure he just got home. He was probably working late… um, he was just doing something and got tired.”

“Yeah,” Yuri was far from convinced, “Whatever you need to tell yourself.”  
He looked at the bags in his hands, “Hey, where should I put this stuff?”

“He- Hm? What?”

“I mean where do you want to eat? Dining area? Kitchen?”

“U-Um. Actually, i-it’s-” Yuuri struggled to communicate through his heartbreak, “I-I don’t really want to eat right now. I- Victor just- I’m not that hungry anymore.”

Yuri’s face fell, his jaw snapping shut.

He looked as desolate as Yuuri felt, and that made him internally panic, worried he had said the wrong thing.

“Wait, Yurio, hold on, we can-”

“-No,” Yuri looked afraid again, but this time, the look didn’t fade away, “No, no. It’s okay. I’m not hungry either.”

“Yurio…” Yuuri whispered, but to no avail. The food bags were shoved into his chest before he could get another word out, and he was left alone at the front door, watching the teenager stalk off to the bedroom down the hall, locking the door behind him.

He probably stood there like that, unmoving and dumbfounded, for a long time. He had to directly tell himself to get going, and felt robotic as he moved to store the takeaway food in their undersized refrigerator. Even when he sat down on the futon beside Victor, he felt stiff and brittle.

Victor muttered something under his breath. He reached his arms around Yuuri, still very much fast asleep, and pulled him in close against his chest. Yuuri sighed, letting himself be held by his fiancé, who normally felt warm and loveable, but now felt just like him: rigid.

Their relationship was thinning, and he knew it. He just didn’t know what he could do to stop it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuri isn't looking so well, and Yuuri beholds tough news he didn't think he would have to hear.

When Yuuri woke up, he had a crick in his neck.

It was his own fault for falling asleep on the futon instead of the bed, and he was suffering the consequence now. It felt like someone had wrenched a nail into the side of his neck; he winced every time he moved it. Falling asleep on the futon gave him other pains, it seemed, because his shoulders were sore and his chest ached like he had slept with a rock resting on his ribs.

Yuuri sighed. It was going to be one tough day on the ice.

But his heaviness abided when he noticed a particular homey scent wafting in from the kitchen.

He took the moment to assess his surroundings, the mind-numbing essence of sleep still fuddling his cognition. He noticed that the futon was half-empty, the blankets on Victor’s side of the cushion askew like he had left in a rush.

Now that Yuuri was waking up, he recognized what the scent was, and it nearly made his mouth water. He hastily rose from the futon, scrambling to put on his glasses and rushing to the kitchen. In his haste, Yuuri nearly tripped over Makkachin sleeping on his mat.

“Sorry, Makkachin,” Yuuri muttered, crouching down to the floor so he could stroke the dog’s fluffy ear. The poodle just yawned and nestled back into his doggy bed as if nothing had ever happened.

“Poor thing’s getting old,” came Victor’s voice from behind, startling Yuuri a bit.  
Victor giggled, putting one hand over his mouth, “Sorry, did I make you jump? I guess I shouldn’t sneak up on you, huh?”

Victor was standing at the mouth of the kitchen, one hand over his smiling mouth, the other hoisting a bowl of food high in the air. Yuuri recognized the smell as the take-out meals from last night, the ones that were shoved into the fridge before anyone got a single bite.

“Good morning,” Yuuri said, a little confused.

“Good morning, Kobuta-chan,” Victor said. He got down on the floor next to him, crouching so they were at the same eye-level. He shifted the bowl into both hands, and held it in front of Yuuri like a crown jewel in a display case, “I’m sorry I had to cancel the dinner date. I was hoping I could make it up to you with a breakfast date instead?”

The sincerity in his voice made Yuuri’s heart swell. He couldn’t help but smile and ask, “By breakfast date, you just mean last night’s dinner for breakfast, right?”

“Well, it’s not like I can cook,” Victor said, setting the bowl down on the floor between them.

“Wait, hold on,” Yuuri was going to break into giggles some time soon, he could feel it, “We’re eating here? On the floor?”

“Why not? We can eat with Makkachin this way,” he hummed, scratching between the old dog’s ears to affirm it.

“You wouldn’t rather eat at the table? You know, the one we _paid_ for?” Yuuri asked, though he didn’t really mean it. He was more than happy to eat on the floor with his dog and fiancé, he was just stupidly curious to hear how Victor would respond.

Victor shrugged with a silly smile on his face, “Tables are overrated!” he rose from the floor, “I’ll go get the rest of the food, you don’t move a muscle.”

He skirted off to assemble the rest of their meal, leaving Yuuri alone with Makkachin once more. He ran his fingers through the dog’s curly fur, finding a kind of soothing relief from it. Makkachin was warm and soft, and just his presence was enough to assure Yuuri that he was safe, that they were both safe.

“Think he’s trying to sweet-talk me, Makka?” Yuuri muttered quietly, finding even more relief just by voicing his concern out loud, even if it was just to the dog.

Makkachin yawned again, resting his head on Yuuri’s knee.

“Sleepy today, aren’t you?” he smiled, finding a rhythm as he moved his hand across the furry pelt, “Were you up late last night? Chasing cats maybe?”  
He looked around, “Hey, is Yurio sleeping, too? This is a little late for him. I know he’s an early riser.”

“Are you talking to the dog?” Victor asked, carrying two more bowls to their spot on the floor. After distributing the bowls and chopsticks, they said their grace and began to dig in, though the food was much too hot to immediately devour.

“Oh come on, don’t pick on me. You talk to the dog all the time. Besides, he needs to be talked to, it’s good for him,” Yuuri reasoned, using his chopsticks to move the noodles so the steam could escape, “I’m sure if he could talk back, he would.”

“Hm, is that so?” Victor hummed, blowing on his bowl to cool it off, “If he could talk, what do you think he would say?”

Victor probably only meant it as a joke, but Yuuri didn’t take it that way. Futile as it may be, he thought about the prompt with legitimate contemplation.

“Probably-” his chopsticks stopped moving, hovering over his bowl, “-that he misses us when we go away? And that he wishes we could take him to the ice rink with us like we used to?”

Victor smiled sweetly, “Oh, Makkachin,” he stroked the dog’s ears, “You’re too old for that now, old boy. It’d be hard to keep an eye on you.”

“Well, he wishes we were home more often, then,” Yuuri said. An unexpected dourness filled the space between him and his fiancé, and it made him uncomfortable.

He delicately set his bowl down.

“Victor, why were you at home last night?”

Victor took a bite from his soba bowl, “I’m not sure I understand the question. You were at home last night, too, weren’t you?”

“I mean, why did you cancel dinner?” Yuuri asked, folding his hands together, “I assumed you had to quit because you were working or something, but when I came home with Yuri, you were already there. I didn’t even see you at the ice rink all that much yesterday, you were only there in the morning. What’s going on?”

“Oh, _that,”_ Victor smiled, “Did I not tell you? Excuse me, I’m so forgetful.”

He smiled juvenilely, like he was completely oblivious to how deeply it was affecting Yuuri.

“I just wasn’t feeling well yesterday,” Victor said, wiping his mouth with a napkin, “I started feeling sick, and so I went home. I was hoping I would feel better around dinnertime, but when I didn’t, I figured I should just cancel. I hope I didn’t upset you too badly.”

“You were feeling sick?” Yuuri swallowed a lump, “What kind of sick? How bad?”

“Nothing bad, I promise!” Victor waved his hand, “I’m fine, we’re fine, I promise. I feel better now, so it couldn’t have been anything serious.”

Yuuri pondered out loud, “You were feeling sick… That’s a big thing, so why- Victor, why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I knew you’d do this!”

“Do what?”

“This! What you’re doing right now!”

“What’s this? What am I doing? Victor!”

Victor giggled again, his eyes lit up with gaiety, “You’re fussing over me! Oh, Kobuta-chan, I knew you would worry. I didn’t want you to fret, so I just waited to heal on my own. I hope you understand, dear. I’m alright. I’m just fine, actually.”

“I-”

The rest of the sentence caught in Yuuri’s throat, and he couldn’t bring himself to complete it.

Victor tilted his head quizzically, patiently waiting.

“I’m sorry for assuming the worst,” Yuuri decided on saying. It wasn’t what he meant to say, but it was all he could manage at this point, “A-And I’m glad you’re feeling better.”

“I forgive you,” Victor smiled. He nudged Yuuri’s bowl closer to him, “Now, eat up. We’re going to be late if we don’t leave within the next five minutes.”

“What, really?” Yuuri was baffled, “It hasn’t been that long has it?”

“We slept in. The alarm clock’s in our bedroom so we didn’t hear it from the futon,” he explained, standing up from the floor and slurping the remnants of his bowl all in one seamless motion. Only Victor could make day-to-day actions flawless and graceful; he was a beacon of grace both on and off the ice.

“Should- Should we wake up Yurio, then?” Yuuri mumbled between bites, shoving his breakfast down his throat like a starved man, “He- I know Yakov would kill him if he arrived late.”

“What?” Victor called over his shoulder, already washing the dishes in the sink, “Oh, no dear, Yurio isn’t asleep. He’s out on a run right now. And for the record, Yakov would kill me first, ‘cause I’m responsible for Yurio for some reason.”

All of a sudden, Yuuri found himself eating slower, the food in his mouth losing its flavor.

“Really?” he asked, after swallowing a sticky lump of breakfast.

“Yeah, I know. I did not sign up to be a guardian, but since neither Yakov nor Yurio have a place to stay while we're here in Japan, Yakov told me-”

“-No, I mean, Yurio’s on a run? This early?”

Victor shrugged carelessly, “Thus the routine of an ice skater.”

“How long has he been out?”

“Um, I don’t really know. He left just as I was waking up.”

“Did he take a coat?”

“I’m not sure. Does he need one?”

“Did he eat breakfast before he left?”

“What am I, his babysitter?” Victor asked playfully, laughing to himself as he washed the dishes.

The empty bowl of breakfast felt way too heavy in Yuuri’s hands. It occurred to him that he didn’t know if he was being irrational, or if Victor just didn’t understand.

“Wherever he is,” Victor said, catching Yuuri’s attention, “He’d better get back soon, or else we’re leaving without h-”

As if on cue, the front door opened inwards, a very exhausted-looking Yuri trudging inside.

“Yurio!” Victor cheered, “We were just talking about you!”

Makkachin yipped. He wagged his tail back and forth excitedly, and it hit the side of Yuuri’s face again and again. But believe it or not, Yuuri hardly noticed the giant fluffy tail thumping against his face, because his attention was devoted solely to his namesake.

Yuri was winded. His blonde bangs were plastered to his forehead with perspiration. The skin of his face was clammy, and his cheeks were pink with strain as he struggled to catch his breath. He had a long-sleeved shirt that was too big for him and long track-pants that sported mud from all the rain the night before, and he looked perversely uncomfortable wearing both of them.

Yuuri’s throat was tight, “Hey, good morning, Yuri.”

Yuri just sniffed in response, wiping his face with the sleeve of his shirt.

“Okay!” Victor clapped his hands together, “We’ve got to get going! Otherwise we’re going to be late, late, late!”

“Wait-” Yuuri was still a bit baffled by the teen’s entrance, “-We’ve got at least a _little_ time, don’t we?”

Victor pulled a face, “Yeah, we have like thirty seconds. Are you worried about something? It’s okay, I can clean up your dishes for you. Go get your things!”

“That’s not what I’m-” 

“-Go, get your bag!” Victor cheered, taking Yuuri’s empty bowl and quickly motioning for him to get up and get going.

It took a while for Yuuri to convince himself that Victor was right, and that they really did need to get going. Time on the ice was a privilege, and they had to get down to the rink before it was all taken away. So he rose from his place on the floor, giving Makkachin a little pat goodbye, and walking off to collect his sports bag.

But even his compliance with Victor’s rationality couldn’t stop him from checking in on his namesake.

“Hey, Yurio,” he whispered, close enough that he could see the mud-flecked dots of sweat along Yuri’s temple, “You okay?”

Yuri made a face like he was annoyed, and he wiped at his brow with his sleeve again, “Why’re you whispering? What’s the matter with you?”

“Did you eat breakfast before your run?”

Yuri’s body tensed with guilt, his lips pressing into a firm line. The sheer degree of shame in his viridian eyes was enough to answer the question.

“Okay,” Yuuri took a shaky breath, “Can you- First, calm down. It’s okay. Um, hey, would you like to eat something before we go to the rink? You might need the energy. I’m sure we can-”

“-We’ve got to go!” Victor cried, ushering them out of the house, “Go, go, go! Yakov’s going to murder me if I drop you off late, Yuri!”

They were practically shoved past the front door, all three of them blundering into each other like clowns in a circus, Makkachin watching curiously from the windows.

Running all the way to the train station downtown was chaotic and disordered, but time-efficient. Victor was having fun with it, laughing while the wind whipped his hair back, but meanwhile, the Yuris were far from enjoying it. Yuri was still out of breath, but he ran with drive and precision nonetheless, while Yuuri was tripping over himself, disoriented and dazed. The three of them just barely managed to get on the train in time, the doors sliding closed mere seconds after Yuuri hopped on.

Victor breathed a long sigh of relief, blushing like a schoolgirl, “That- That was great!”

“No! It wasn’t!” Yuuri exclaimed, though a grin escaped him. The sight of Victor blushing accidentally made him smile; he couldn’t help himself.

“At least Yakov-” Yuri started to say, but then a cough cut him off. He buried his face into the crook of his elbow, using his fist to beat at his narrow chest to let a series of coughs escape him.

By the time he was done coughing, there was a tear in the corner of his eye that only Yuuri could see. 

He unzipped his sports bag with shaking hands, searching around for his water bottle under piles of athleticwear.

“Yuri, have you drunk any water today?” he asked, finding it and handing it over.

“Before my run, but not after,” Yuri replied, taking the bottle without hesitation (which was surprising, really, because he hated sharing). He drank the water greedily at first, but then realized he was being watched, and slowed his intake, only sipping tenuously.

Yuuri hadn’t meant to stare at him. He had been staring a lot these days, and he hated himself for it. He never meant to make a show of his concern, really he tried to hide it the best he could, but he supposed his worry was getting out of hand these days.

What Yuuri didn’t notice was that he wasn’t the only one staring at the young Russian. Victor had been watching as well, his blue eyes ripping right through the two ice skaters. He bore a stern look impossible to decipher from the outside, too gentle to be intimidating, but too cold to be loving.

* * *

A few hours later, Yuuri was blissfully exhausted. He was still sore from sleeping on the futon, and now he was worn out from his new routine, too. He’s been working hard all morning, ever since he, Yuri, and Victor stormed into the rink after running like wind from the train station.

Yuuri could hear Victor shouting praises at him from across the rink, hailing him over to insist that he take a well-earned break.

“Well done, Kobuta-chan! Beautiful!” Victor was smiling from ear to ear, and it was a sight that made Yuuri feel even hotter. He was already flushed from practicing his rigorous routine, but now he was probably beet-red.

“Thank you, Victor,” he smiled back, skating across the ice to the side door, where his fiancé held an outstretched granola bar in his hand.

“Need a snack? You’ve been working so hard today,” Victor complimented, ruffling Yuuri’s hair a bit and helping him off the ice, onto the solid flooring.

Victor was a good coach. He never sugar-coated his thoughts on Yuuri’s work. Sometimes, his bluntness hurt because it felt like he didn’t have a filter. But other times, like now, Yuuri appreciated his honesty. He knew that if Victor said he’s doing a good job, he’s _really_ doing a good job.

“You know I do,” Yuuri said, taking his glasses from the bench and sitting down to unlace his skates, “I’m worn out. I need some carbs in me.”

He didn’t take off his ice skates, but kept them unlaced so his feet could rest. The skates were so damn constricting that sometimes it felt like his ankles were going to implode. Sitting down with unlaced skates was one of the best feelings in the world, second only to personal intimacy with Victor, like now, with the way he was stroking Yuuri’s hair and offering to feed him; even little gestures like this were what encouraged Yuuri to look past all the times Victor mistreated him. It was never intentional, after all. Victor couldn’t help it. He was such a good guy, and-

On the far side of the rink, Yakov shouted something in Russian after Yuri landed yet another flawless lutz.

Yuuri frowned, “Victor?”

“Hm? What is it?” Victor asked distractedly. He was pulling at the granola bar’s wrapper, struggling to find a way to open it.

“What is it Yakov’s saying?”

“Hm?” Victor paid attention now, eyes narrowing at the other coach across the room, “Oh. He’s just saying ‘good job.’ Yurio’s doing really well with his new routine, isn’t he?”

Yuuri watched a little too closely, noticing how Yuri’s ice skates didn’t constrict his feet like Yuuri’s did. In fact, the Russian Fairy’s skates were slack around the ankles with ample breathing room, even though the laces were pulled as tightly as they could pull.

Ice skates were not designed to be loose. Just the _idea_ of a loose ice skate was bloodcurdling. Surely, Yuri’s skates fit him regularly a few months ago, but now there was a gap between the skin and the shoe, and that was just _wrong._ There were _so many_ injuries that could occur in a matter of mere seconds with skates like that. 

“But he’s not nearly as good as you, Kobuta-chan!” Victor added quickly, stooping down to kiss his temple, “And don’t worry about Yakov. We were a little late, but he didn’t take any of his anger out on me.”

“Okay,” an ugly thought irked in the back of Yuuri’s mind, “Did he take any out on Yuri?”

“You mean Yuri- _o?”_ Victor corrected, raising an eyebrow, _“You’re_ Yuuri, dear, I thought we’ve established this.”

“Victor, are you worried about Yuri?” he asked, and then clarified, “Yurio, I mean? Are you worried about him, too?”

Victor pulled a subtle frown, looking out to the aforementioned skater, who was, at this point, engaged in a sarcastic argument with Yakov about one of his turns.

“No,” Victor said.

He said it with so much confidence that it made Yuuri want to argue with him— something he’s never wanted before. But before he could even open his mouth, Victor tilted his head down at him in that saccharine, loving way and said, “I’m more worried about you, if we’re being honest.”

“Me?” Yuuri repeated. The accusation was so outlandish that Yuuri forgot what the pronoun even meant, “Why me? How could you be worried about me?”

“You’re mothering him,” Victor said not unkindly. He motioned to Yuri, who was gliding across the ice with serenity and dignity, poise and practical perfection, ignoring all the curt remarks that Yakov was barking at him.  
“Yurio’s fine. But you’re acting like he’s a sick little kid,” Victor’s voice dropped lower, “I saw the way you watched him drink water on the train this morning. You almost looked afraid. That kind of concern isn’t warranted, dear, and I don’t think it’s healthy for you.”

“Victor…” Yuuri winced.

“Really,” Victor pressed, “You’re worried about him, and it’s really weighing you down. It’s upsetting you. I don’t like seeing you like this.”

Yuuri’s throat was twitching— a telltale sign that he was going to break into sobs sometime soon. He had to deliberately pry his gaze from Victor’s puppy eyes and stare at the arena, “But I don’t like seeing _him_ like _that.”_

“You’re not his mother,” Victor said earnestly, squeezing Yuuri’s hand to comfort him, “You’re going to smother him if you’re not careful. You’re not his parent, and you’ll never be his parent, so you just need to take a step back and take care of yourself, alright?”

“I don’t want to be his parent,” Yuuri sighed, rubbing his thumb along the back of Victor’s hand, “I want to be his friend.”

“Then be his friend,” Victor smiled, squeezing his hand tighter, “Don’t be his mother.”

“I guess-…” Yuuri sighed, “Sorry. I guess you’re right. I’m just-… ug, I don't know.”

Victor kissed his cheek so softly that Yuuri almost didn’t feel it, “There’s no need to stress, Kobuta-chan. Honestly. Stress like that will get in the way of your skating.”

Yuuri nodded. He gave Victor a light kiss back, grinning when he said, “That too. Besides, I shouldn’t use up all of my parenting skills so soon, right? I should save them for when we have our own bundle of joy.”

Victor laughed.

He laughed, and laughed, and laughed until he realized that Yuuri wasn’t joking.

They both balked, as if waiting for the other person to speak first.

Unsurprisingly it was Victor who initiated the conversation. He cleared his throat and went back to trying to open the granola bar, diverting his attention to the impossible plastic so he wouldn’t have to look at his fiancé, “Why do you look so upset, Kobuta-chan?”

“I don’t look upset,” Yuuri managed to say, despite the closing of his throat.

“Don’t bicker with me now,” Victor muttered, ripping through the wrapper and almost shattering the granola bar in the process, “You’re upset. Why?”

“I don’t know, I just thought-” Yuuri swallowed, “-I guess I wasn’t expecting you to downright laugh at me when I mentioned our future kids.”

“What future kids?”

Yuuri could literally _feel_ the blood drain from his face, sinking slowly and sinisterly down to his aching heart.

Victor’s face fell, “Crap. Crap, I’m sorry. Wait, hold on,” he forced the granola bar into Yuuri’s hands, as if it would alleviate him, “I didn’t realize you thought we were having kids, Yuuri. I’m sorry.”

“Wait, are you-” Yuuri’s breathing sped up, “-Hold on a second. Are you saying you’ve already decided we’re not having kids?”

“We’ve never talked about it, dear, we-”

“-Well, yeah. But- But I just assumed we were going to talk about it _someday,_ I-I mean, you-” Yuuri lifted his head up to the ceiling to hold the tears back, “You know how much I like kids, Victor, I do- I don’t understand why you would just decide that. Without talking to me about it. That’s just- That’s not _fair…”_

“I didn’t _decide_ anything, calm down! Don’t make a scene, we can-”

“-I’m not making a scene, Victor, I just don’t understand why-”

“-I just don’t want kids, alright? What’s it matter? It’s not like we’re having any anytime soon.”

“Well, no, but-”

“-Don’t squeeze the granola bar, Yuuri,” Victor muttered, shaking his head solemnly, “Look at you, you’re getting shit all over your athleticwear. Shit, there are crumbs everywhere. God, Yuuri, seriously?”

Yuuri felt his veins run cold, “Victor… are you kidding me right now?”

The coach sighed like he was bored, “Don’t freak out. I’ll get you a napkin,” he turned away and started back to the break room, “I’ll be right back.”

“Victor, don’t,” Yuuri stood up to follow him, now realizing that he had, in fact, broken the granola bar into small pieces in his anxious grip.

“I said I’ll be right back, alright? Just give me a minute!” Victor seethed, stalking away with intention now. He ripped the door to the break room wide open and slammed it shut behind him, not even glancing Yuuri’s direction one time.

But despite his storming off, Yuuri wasn’t alone. He could feel a close presence nearby, and realized it was just his namesake on the other side of the glass wall, standing right next to him on the ice.

Yuri looked unusually protective. In height, he barely stood above Yuuri’s shoulder length, and in weight—actually, no. Yuuri wasn’t going to make that comparison. But the idea stood nonetheless. The picture was clear enough: Yuri was small, but he stood there with the intense defensive instincts of a guardian angel.

“Everything okay over here?” he asked monotonously, as if he didn’t give a damn. But his protective stance proved otherwise.

Even against all the turmoil Yuuri was feeling right now, he felt a smile break free. Yuri’s concern was just so endearing. It was so outside of what he normally felt comfortable expressing, and it practically felt like an honor to bear witness to it.

“I’m okay,” Yuuri smiled, “It’s nothing to be concerned about, Yurio.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yeah… Yeah, it’s okay.”

Off in the distance, Yakov shouted something belligerently. Yuuri couldn’t understand what he was saying, but the tone was enough to make him jump.

“Hey, Yurio, your coach is calling you,” Yuuri pursed his lips, “You’d better go. I don’t want you to get in trouble because of me.”

The teen scoffed, though a solemn worry lingered in his eyes. He opened his mouth to say something, but then the hot-tempered Yakov hurled his clipboard down to gain his attention, and both of them flinched at the _slam_ sound it made.

Yuri rolled his shoulders back like nothing had happened, “Yeah. I guess I’ll go, then.”

“Keep up the good work,” Yuuri waved a meek good-bye.

“Say hi to the asshole for me,” Yuri said, before pushing off the rim to help him move across the ice. When Yuri skated back to his coach, he kept his head up high, his backside straight. Truly, the kid’s majesty was something to be revered by all, but Yuuri couldn’t pay attention to it right now. The only thing he could focus on were Yuri’s ice skates, and how they hung off his feet, like he was a little kid wearing his mother’s shoes.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri thought that tonight would be like all the other times Victor left him alone, lonesome and somberly awaiting his return. Instead he finds himself under a blanket fort with a practically transparent Yurio.

Both Yakov and Victor had to leave the arena early that day. The only reason why Victor hadn’t said a word about it beforehand was because he forgot about it. He completely forgot that he had to attend an all-coaches meeting on the other side of town.

His forgetfulness would be charming if it weren’t so disruptive.

Yuuri had to remind himself that Victor didn’t forget it intentionally; hell, he had to remind himself that it was, in fact, literally impossible to deliberately urge oneself to erase information from the brain. It wasn’t Victor’s fault that Yuuri missed him so much.

But no matter what he told himself, this was yet another night that he would dine alone, and it sucked. 

After Yakov and Victor left early, the Yuris decided to head home. Without either of their coaches, what was the point in staying?

Victor wasn’t supposed to return until after midnight, so Yuuri spent his time in the house curled up on their master bed reading a book and cuddling Makkachin. The dog must have realized Yuuri was upset, because he pressed against him like he was trying to comfort him, and that alone made Yuuri feel a lot better.

He was contentedly halfway through the chapter in his book when Makkachin released a telltale whine.

“Oh, does someone need to go to the bathroom?” Yuuri asked, putting a bookmark between the pages in his library book. He’s always hated folding pages to mark where he left off, it felt like destroying public property. He set the unfolded book down on the nightstand and rose from the bed, “Come on, Makka, let’s go outside.”

The old poodle dragged himself out of bed similarly to how Yuuri did on weekends, and trodded to the exterior door with the usual lethargy that came with his age, Yuuri guiding him all the way.

The nearer he drew, Yuuri could see shadows coming from the kitchen, moving back and forth across the space. And by the time he let Makkachin outside and shut the door behind him, he could hear noises in the kitchen, too.

Curious, he peeked his head around the bend. Inside, he saw none other than Yuri, holding the refrigerator open with one hand and carrying a snack box in the other.

When the teen realized he was discovered, the box in his hand fell to the floor, and cookies toppled out of the open end, scattering across the hardwood. He briskly closed the fridge door.

“Yurio,” Yuuri murmured, barely registering the name as it fell out of his mouth.

From where he stood, it looked like Yuri wanted to both fight and take flight at the same time. From the hysteria in his eyes, he might as well have been caught red-handed for murder in the first degree.

“Yurio,” Yuuri said again, this time more gently, “Hey- Why- Why are you freaking out? What’s that face for?”

Instead of answering, Yuri dropped to his knees to the snack box. He scrambled to pick up the fallen cookies, nimble fingers moving briskly and shakily to gather all the pieces.

“Hey!” Yuuri was startled, rushing to Yuri’s side on the floor, “Hey, hey, hey, it’s okay! We all drop things sometimes! It’s not a big deal! Calm down, okay?”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Yuri croaked, his voice breaking.

Yuuri resisted the urge to immediately swaddle him in a hug. Holding himself back from it was a lot more strenuous than anticipated. In the midst of his strain, he couldn’t help but notice the curve of Yuri’s depressed spine and the cookie box clutched in Yuri’s white-knuckled grip.

“Wait, hold on,” Yuuri nearly whispered, “Yurio, were you about to eat something?”

“I’m sorry.”

Yuuri brought a hand to his mouth, and then yanked it away.

“Wait, why- why are you sorry? There’s no reason to be sorry,” he crouched lower on the hardwood, trying to be as least intimidating as possible, “Hey, Yurio. Hey, look at me. Are you hungry?”

“I’m sorry,” Yuri muttered, his stare deadened.

“Don’t be sorry, please,” Yuuri urged mildly, “It’s okay. Not just ‘okay,’ it’s _good,_ even. How, um- How about we go eat something?”

He rose from the floor and extended his hand out for Yuri to take. But the blonde remained blinking confusedly, like his entire body was numb with shock.

“Yurio,” Yuuri bent down again, “Don’t you want to get something to eat?”

Yuri compressed further into himself on the floor, “Won’t you shut up? You’re acting like my fucking mama or something. Don’t you have a life?”

Despite his harsh words, Yuri’s tone was subdued and meek. He didn’t come off as angry, not really. He just sounded really, really tired, maybe even a little afraid.

“You’re, um-” Yuuri had to tell himself to take a deep breath, “You’re right, but- Look, I- I’m sorry if I-”

Yuri wasn’t even paying attention.

“Yurio, look at me. Hey, I’m- I’m hungry, too. Let’s eat something together.”  
He spoke rushedly, the words were just falling out of his mouth like rapid-fire.   
“We can take food to the master bedroom, and we can eat on the bed with Makkachin, and we can binge-watch Netflix and stay up late or something. We- We can do crazy stuff. O-Or we can just do whatever you want.”

It took a lengthened period of silence, but eventually the words sunk in, and Yuri smirked.

“What? What did- Did I say something wrong?”

Yuri held his smirk, rolling his shoulders back and sitting up properly, “Binge-watching Netflix and eating on the bed. You just went from being a mama to being a college roommate in five seconds flat. Holy shit. You’re so fucking weird.”

His smirk was akin to a smile, and it made Yuuri smile in return.

“So, how about it?” Yuuri said giddily, like the aforementioned college roommate with the gift of being a bad influence, “Want to get a bunch of snacks together and break a rule or two?”

Yuri brushed his bangs out of his face to show that he meant business, a glint of determination sparkling in his eyes, “All of them. Let’s break every single one.”

They technically didn’t have any rules in this household. It wasn’t like they lived in an abusive orphanage with a giant chalkboard listing all the strict mandates the children must follow, and how they would be punished should they disobey. No, for the most part, they really had a relaxing life. If anything, Yuuri was the one who set their rules; he liked to keep the house tidy, and he was always particular about noise levels, but his preferences were nonetheless alien from legitimate rules. He never enforced anything, he just had his preferences.

But right now, it felt like he was breaking every rule he ever encountered in his life, and it was liberating.

They raided the kitchen, taking foods that they usually never ate unless they won tournaments. Yuuri gathered ramen cups, savoury snacks, and of course, his prized pork cutlet (thank the heavens Victor hadn’t found that in the fridge this morning!), while Yuri assembled a bounty of sweets, things like cookies, biscuit treats, and fruits. They ran their snacks to the bedroom by the armful, practically making a mountain of snacks and cushions on the master bed, with Makkachin excitedly tagging along all the while.

They were doing something so menial, but it still felt like an adventure. It made Yuuri’s blood rush through his veins and his heart jump in his chest.

It had been almost an hour by now, and Yuuri and Yuri were sitting in what resembled a pillow and blanket fort, their half-eaten bounty spread across the quilt without any sense of organization. They were in front of the giant TV screen, watching one of Yuuri’s favorite Netflix comedies, while Makkachin was fast asleep on the carpet beside them.

Yuri was only partially paying attention to the TV, he seemed more interested in his phone. But he was still a part of the moment, talking to Yuuri and making snide comments on the comedy here and there, so it wasn’t like he wasn’t present.

The most important thing, though, was that he was eating.

Every once in a while, he very, very subtly slipped his hand into the cookie box or onto the fruit platter to feed himself. Yuri ate very slowly, taking five minutes or longer between each bite, chewing everything to a paste. He also ate very much like a child, breaking cookies into portions the size of his fingernail and squishing pieces of fruit between his fingers before putting them into his mouth. And he never took a bite of anything when it was obvious Yuuri was watching him.

Even though Yuuri was trying to be discreet about observing him, he couldn’t help but notice the faint blush and smile that bloomed on the young skater’s face as he ogled down at his phone.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you smile before, Yurio,” he remarked, only half-joking.

Yuri rolled his eyes, but he didn’t look away from the screen, “I smile all the time, jerk. Just not around you.”

“What? Why not me?” Yuuri laughed.

“Not you specifically. Just people. People suck.”

“You’re so dismal. There are all kinds of great people!”

“Yeah, like who? Name one.”

“Just one? Hm. Well, I guess I would have to name whoever’s making you blush right now,” Yuuri teased, “Is someone sending you flirty texts or something?”

“You could say that.”

Yuuri’s jaw dropped.

“Don’t stare at me all pig-eyed like that, Katsudon! I’m likeable!”

“I never said you were unlikeable! I just didn’t know you had a love life!”

“Well, I do! So fuck off!”

“Please tell me!”

“What?”

Yuuri scooted closer to him on the bed, disregarding the empty cup of ramen and the half-eaten package of biscuit treats, “Yurio, I am begging you,” he put his hands together in prayer formation, “Please tell me. I am very, very interested. I must know _details.”_

“What are we? In high school?” Yuri was trying to be intimidating, but his blushing and his accidental smiles gave him away.

“I just want to know! Come on, is it too much to ask? Do I know this person?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

“…”

“Okay. Fine. Yeah. Yeah, you do.”

“Oh my god, what’s her name?”

“You mean _his_ name?” Yuri asked monotonously. He was pretending to be bored again, but at this point, he was as transparent as glass.

Yuuri’s smile grew wider, “Oh my god, it’s Otabek, isn’t it?”

“Shut up!” Yuri cried, before slipping into laughter.

His laughter was rare. Yuuri could only remember hearing it once in the entire time he’s known Yuri, and that was when he won gold at the Grand Prix. He’s never heard it so openly before, and it made laughter bubble up inside himself, too.

“Don’t be mean about it!” Yuuri exclaimed through his giggles, “Just- Oh god, hold on-! This is priceless!”

“Fuck off!”

“I’m not making fun of you! I’m happy for you!” Yuuri leaned in even closer, “Can I have details? Please?”

“Seriously, fuck off,” Yuri bit a tad defensively. He was holding his phone with both of his hands, gingerly, as if protecting it. His eyes were glued to the screen with a sort of somber longing.

“Yurio,” Yuuri smiled, “I’ll say it again, I’m not making fun of you. If you don’t want to talk about it, you don’t have to. I’m just happy for you, and I’m curious to know more, that’s all. If that’s okay. You don’t have to share if you don’t want to.”

Yuri didn’t say anything, and that made Yuuri bit down on his lip, worried he had crossed some kind of boundary.

But then the Russian Fairy did the unexpected. He gave Yuuri his phone, “Here. You can read our messages.”

Yuuri blinked in surprise. That was a lot more opening up than he anticipated.

“What?” Yuri asked, hugging his shins in a snug position.

“I just-” Yuuri licked his lips, “-Sorry, you know I don’t know Russian. Or Kazakh.”

“We’re texting in English,” Yuri said, resting his chin down on his knees. He looked so placid, so easeful. It was almost impossible to believe that he was the same punk who conquered the Grand Prix with blood, sweat, and tears and hurled death threats at anyone who looked at him twice.

Surely enough, when Yuuri scrolled through the messages, he saw nothing but English texts that practically _reeked_ of teenage zeal. He stumbled across a conversation from a week or so ago, where they were apparently asking each other get-to-know-you questions:

**Beka:** _Now you go_

**Yuri:** _no_

**Beka:** _Why not?_

**Yuri:** _i wouldnt want to live in the city or the country. they both suck. cities are gross because they stink and theres people literally everywhere. farms are gross because they stink and theres literal shit everywhere_

**Beka:** _the point of the game is to pick one, Yuri. You stink_

**Yuri:** _i do not stink_

**Beka:** _You do stink. You smell worse than Christophe Giacometti_

**Yuri:** _fuck you I smell like lilac and wisteria_

**Beka:** _Lilac and wisteria? I don’t believe this. I must test this statement for myself. I need proof. I’m buying a plane ticket to Japan right now_

**Yuri:** _youre coming over to smell me?_

**Beka:** _Well, I’ll do more to you if you’ll let me ;)_

Besides the banter, the more Yuuri scrolled through the messages, the more and more he was endeared. Otabek and Yuri’s texts were gentle tidings of amity. They were a little flirtatious, sure, but nothing risqué. It looked like they texted about all kinds of things, their favorite music genres, what TV shows they were binging right now, and how much they hated their coaches sometimes. But what _really_ surprised Yuuri was when he read their talks about incredibly vulnerable content, such as their devastative childhoods (which Yuuri chose not to read out of courtesy) and their favorite colors (apparently, Yuri’s was black).

It was actually really sweet, and Yuuri found himself dumbfounded by all the uncloseted ardor. It was all just so… innocent.

“You know, I’ve never done this before.”

Yuuri looked up from the phone, “Haven’t what? Flirted?”

“No, _this,”_ Yuri said, not lifting his chin from his knees, refusing to loosen his hold around his legs, “What we’re doing. You know, talking about boys. Eating sugary shit on the bed. I’ve never done this before.”

“No?”

“I mean, it’s not like I went to public school where I could make friends to do this kind of shit with,” he said, not blinking, “I’ve just been training my whole damn life.”

“Oh, well…” Yuuri pushed his glasses up on his nose, “This is my first time doing this, too.”

“You too?”

“Well, sort of. I mean, I went to school. My parents really wanted me to get a good education,” Yuuri shrugged, “I just had trouble making friends. I was shy.”

“‘Was?’” Yuri scoffed, raising an eyebrow.

“Okay, I’m _still_ shy,” Yuuri smiled, “And anxious. But I’ve somehow managed to make a lot of friends this year.”

“You say that like you’re surprised people like you,” Yuri rolled his eyes, tilting his head a little so his bangs swept across his face.

Yuuri’s never seen him look so calm before, it was picturesque.

He stumbled across an old text that made him smirk:

**Beka:** _current mood: thinking about that time I bit your glove off in front of all your fans. God they were soooo fkn jealous. You looked mad sexy in that makeup ngl_

Yuuri smiled, “He really likes you.”

For some reason, a pang of remorse struck him.

Yuri just shrugged as if he didn’t care, but the tenuous grin in his lips was indisputable. He started to eat another cookie, smiling in between each tiny bite.

“Yurio,” he said as he scrolled through some of the more recent texts, “are you two, like, serious?”

Yuri shook his head, “We’re just talking.”

“Oh, okay.”  
The phone buzzed in his hand, and a new text from Otabek popped on screen:

**Beka:** _Yura I’ve been mailing you chocolates and cakes and things for a few months now but you haven’t mentioned them once. Are they not delivering? I feel like you would have gotten at least one box by now_

“How, um- How long, exactly, have you two been talking?” Yuuri asked, deciding against bringing up the message.

“I think we’ve been talking since…” Yuri looked to the ceiling in thought, “Since he kidnapped me on his motorcycle, I guess.”

Yuuri could have slapped himself across the face.

_“Excuse me?”_

“Close that mouth before a bug flies in, Katsudon,” Yuri shifted his chin on his knees, loosening up his posture casually, “Did I not tell you that story before or something?”

“I think I would remember a story like that if you told me!”

The phone buzzed again, and this time they both noticed it.

Yuri brought a fingertip to his teeth, “Is that Beka?”

“Yeah, but-”

“-Can I see?” he asked.

Yuuri swallowed. He didn’t know why he was nervous. He turned the screen so they could both read it:

**Beka:** _Sorry. I just read over my last text and it sounded kinda aggressive. I didn’t mean that. Im not upset, im just an impatient bitch I guess_

Yuri was smiling again, breaking another cookie into microscopic pieces.  
“I like him. He’s cool,” he said, fondness trickling into his otherwise monotonous voice. He nibbled at one of the cookie pieces, his expression gooey and dreamy-eyed.

“Oh, Yurio,” Yuuri said delicately, “He really likes you, too. I can tell.”

“Yeah?” Yuri asked. He sounded pensive, his tone unsure. His eyes were alive with something irking, something questioning beneath the surface.

“Yeah. He’s, um, he’s really considerate. He really, _really_ likes you…”

“…”

“…”

“Katsudon, are you crying?”

Yuuri tossed the phone down on the bed, and it landed softly, bouncing on the cushions.

“I’m not crying, I’m just-” he raked a hand through his hair, “I don’t know. I- I feel kind of overwhelmed right now. For no reason at all. God, why am I-”

Yuri cut in, “You’re thinking of Victor.”

Yuuri winced.

Yuri’s eyes narrowed, “Am I wrong?”

“Yes,” Yuuri squeezed his eyes shut, “No. Um… I don’t know, sort of?”

“What were you thinking, then? Explain it to me,” Yuri said, nudging forward a bag of one of Yuuri’s favorite snacks.

He took the bag and opened it subconsciously, more focused on trying to piece together his thoughts into words, “I don’t know, I was just, like… remembering, I guess. I don’t know. See, Victor and I were a lot like that when we first started off, and…”

“And now you aren’t.”

Yuuri shrugged one shoulder, eating a handful of chips from the bag. Savoury foods have always been his enemy, but they were so kind to him whenever he was upset.

“Do you think I should stop talking to Beka, then?” Yuri asked, completely serious.

“Mmh?”

“You’re implying that Beka-” he stopped and corrected himself, “-that _Otabek_ is acting the way Victor used to, right? I should just stop talking to him now, before he goes full Victor and starts treating me like scum on the bottom of his shoe. That’s what you’re saying, right?”

Yuuri swallowed the food in his mouth first, and it stuck like plaster as it was forced down his throat. He shook his head and waved his hands in dismay, “No, Yurio! I’m not saying that at all!”

“You think we should keep talking, then?”

“Yes, absolutely! What you have with Otabek is special. I don’t think he’s going to hurt you.”

“Well, with the way Victor adores you with his entire fucking soul, I didn’t think he would ever hurt you either. But I was wrong,” Yuri reached forward like he was going to take another cookie, but then jerked his hand back to his chest, like he had touched a hot stove.

Yuuri’s heart panged, “Yurio, you’re allowed to have a cookie…”

Another text delivered, and they watched the screen light up together, but neither of them unlocked the phone.

“You’re allowed to talk to Otabek, too, honestly,” Yuuri summoned a smile despite his sadness, “Please. Have your little teenage romance.”

“Fuck, Katsudon, you talk like a boomer sometimes. It’s annoying. You’re barely older than me,” Yuri sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He finally released his hold around his knees and laid back against the blanket fort, stretching out like a cat on its back.

Yuuri tried not to stare at the way Yuri’s shirt crept up his midsection, exposing his protruding ribs.

“The hell is going on between you and Victor anyway?” Yuri asked exhaustedly, “You’ve been nothing but nice to him and now he’s just dissing you all the time. He loves you to death, anyone can see it, you mean the entire world to him. But he isn’t treating you right anymore.”

His blatancy was cruel in its exactness, and it felt like a punch in the gut to hear out loud.

“I don’t actually know what’s going on,” Yuuri confessed, “Maybe, um- Maybe he’s going through something?”

The teen gave a long, dreary sigh, “Is sympathy your solution to every problem?”

“That’s not a bad thing, is it?”

Yuri shrugged, “It is if you get hurt.”

* * *

  
  


Yuri stopped eating after that, but Yuuri, on the other hand, couldn’t stop eating.

Besides that, the rest of the night was spent pretty much the same way, watching Netflix from the pillow fort and basking in each other’s company. Makkachin essentially slept the whole time, and eventually, Yuri fell asleep, too.

That surprised Yuuri at first. No one had ever fallen asleep around him before. When sharing a bed with Victor, he was always the first one to fall asleep, while Victor always kept a watchful eye. But here he was, wide awake, while the punk was sleeping blissfully, his lithe chest rising and falling with shallow, rhythmic breaths.

As much as he wanted the levity to linger, by the time it was almost midnight, Yuuri had to wake him up. He hated it. Really, he just wanted his friend to be at peace. But Victor would be home soon, and he probably wouldn’t be happy to see two fools sleeping between a mess of pillows and snack wrappers all over his bed.

So even though he really, really, really hated it, Yuuri gently shook his namesake awake. Yuri was barely cognizant and he was muttering in Russian, so it took quite a bit of elbow grease to kindly urge him to get to his own bed. Yuri didn’t even change clothes or shower or anything, he just dropped down on the guest bedroom mattress, dead to the world.

After that, Yuuri went around cleaning up the bedroom. He deconstructed the pillow fort, rearranged the bedding, and discarded all the evidence of the secret snack feast. It hurt his heart a little, he had to admit, it felt like he was tearing down constructs of memories. Everything saccharine turned bittersweet when he touched it, and it even made him feel a little guilty.

He was in the process of stuffing Yuri’s cookie box into the cupboard when the front door unlocked and swung open.

“Kobuta-chan!” Victor greeted in a sing-song voice, way too loud for after midnight, “What are you doing up so late? You weren’t waiting on me, were you?”  
He was still dressed in his coach uniform from earlier, which was now looking a little worse for wear. His boots were covered in mud from the outside, and he carefully removed them at the front door.

“I was just putting something away for Yurio,” he explained, coming to greet his fiancé with a hug, “Though I did want to be awake for when you got home, too.”

Victor gave that sweet, sappy smile that made Yuuri swoon. He nestled his face into the hug, humming a little, “Yuuri, you’re too good for me. You know that?”

Victor pulled in closer, lowering his mouth near Yuuri’s ear.

“I’m sorry about earlier, dear,” he said softly, his low voice tickling the cup of his ear, “The talk about kids, it- I just wasn’t expecting it. It caught me off-guard and it scared me.”

“Really?” Yuuri stepped back to look him in the eye, “It scared you?”

“Mhm. I guess I just wasn’t ready to talk about it, and I ended up lashing out at you,” Victor’s bottom lip jutted out, pouting for sympathy, “It was very wrong of me.”

“I wouldn’t say you ‘lashed out,’ per say…” Yuuri tried to compensate.

“No?”

“Not really, I think you just got… terse? Because you were uncomfortable?”

“That’s right,” Victor stroked his hand through Yuuri’s hair, “and I’m sorry for it. I really didn’t mean to upset you. Can we just forgive and forget about it and go to bed now? I’m so tired, that meeting wore me out.”

“Well…”

“Well?”

“I mean, I can forgive and forget everything you said. Easily. But we are going to have that talk _someday_ right? About kids?”

“Sure. If it makes you happy, Kobuta-chan,” Victor grinned. He looked at him expectantly, virtuously. He looked at him the same starry-eyed way he looked at him when they first met, back when their love was still vernal and ripe, and all of a sudden, Yuuri found himself thinking of Otabek. Of all seven billion people on the planet, he was thinking of Otabek Altin, not the fiancé of his dreams who stood right at his fingertips, innocently asking for bedtime.

Yuuri felt guilty with himself.

“Sorry for stalling,” he said, forcing a smile, “Let’s go to bed, Victor. I’m tired, too. It’s late.”

Victor held his hand on the way to the bedroom, swinging their hands back and forth all too romantically, “Don’t think that because it’s late I’m going to let you sleep in tomorrow!”

“I wouldn’t think you would,” Yuuri sighed. He and Victor greeted Makkachin as they entered, and they started to prepare for the well-deserved rest ahead of them.

Victor was halfway through undressing when he stopped moving, frowning at something on their bed, “Yuuri, what’s that?”

“What’s what?” Yuuri asked, before noticing a particular buzzing item in the dead center of the quilt, “Oh, that’s Yurio’s phone! He must have left it here on accident.”

Victor picked it up between his thumb and forefinger like it was a disease, “Who could possibly be texting him so late?”

“Oh, you know,” Yuuri tried not to let his smile give it away, “It’s probably his grandpa or whatever.”

“God, why is his phone even in our room, anyway? That kid needs to learn some boundaries, I swear,” he huffed, carelessly tossing the device down on the nightstand. He hopped into bed with a little too much irritation, jerking the quilt as he spoke, “Do you ever just wish we could ship him back to St. Petersburg?”

Yuuri’s mouth went dry, “No. I’ve never wished that.”

“Please don’t pout like that, Kobuta-chan, I’m only joking!”

“Do-” Yuuri didn’t look him in the eye, “Do you not enjoy his company or something?”

“Oh, he’s fine. I was just thinking that while we’re in Japan, he could at _least_ stay with Yakov. Or we could toss him in a youth hostel. I don’t get why he has to spend the summer with us, I really don’t,” he yawned, gazing at the ceiling dreamily, “I like Yurio, of course. I’m just saying that I wish it could just be the two of us, dear. I really do. Wouldn’t you like our summer a little more cozy? More romantic?”

Yuuri couldn’t tell if that was a compliment for him, or a chastisement on Yurio. He barely even knew how to respond.

“Well, um- What can I say, Victor? Other people exist.”

Victor laughed, “Unfortunately, yes. Other people exist,” he nestled under the bed sheets cozily, “Turn off the light for me, dear?”

Willing himself to do as he was told, Yuuri crossed the bedroom to flip the light switch, though when everything went dark, a glow still remained in the room. It was Yuri’s phone, casting a bright illumination across the walls.

Victor was already getting settled, so he didn’t even notice Yuuri approaching the nightstand, curious to catch a glimpse of the message he knew Otabek sent. However, he was met with irksome discomfort when he actually read the following:

**Gramps:** _Hello, vnuk! I hope Japan is treating you well_ _  
_ _Another chocolate box arrived for you in the mail today. A very nice one, I must say. Do you want me to throw it away like all the others?_ _  
_ _Call me when you get the chance. You don’t call me anymore._   
_I love you._ _  
Dasvidaniya._

“Something wrong, Kobuta-chan?” Victor muttered sleepily, though he didn’t even bother opening his eyes.

Yuuri turned the phone upside down, snuffing out the light, “No. Just getting ready for bed.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri might have finally discovered why Victor doesn't treat him the same anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings for this chapter:  
> An anxiety/panic attack almost takes place. It doesn't actually happen, but it almost does, so I thought I should leave the warning :)  
> There is also mention of/pressure to take medication
> 
> Also, quick note. I landed a new gig, so updates will probably be less frequent than they have been.

There were times in Yuuri’s life when even he couldn’t deny that he definitely acted like a mother. Now was one of those times.

He was doing laundry. Not just doing laundry, but doing laundry for all the other skaters who used the Hasetsu rink. They had a shabby little laundry room with a clinky washer and a rusty dryer, and while it wasn’t the best, it was well loved. The athletes in this arena worked so hard that their sweat alone would disintegrate the fabric of their clothes if they weren’t careful. It was an unspoken rule here that you had to come wearing clean clothes out of courtesy for everyone else around you.

It also went unspoken that Yuuri was the official clothes-washer. He never felt compelled enough to argue against it, if anything, he actually enjoyed having a little healthy alone time. Doing laundry was strangely therapeutic. It gave him something to focus on and the space to have his thoughts.

“Katsudon?”

Hands going still around the leggings in his grip, Yuuri glanced over his shoulder, surprised to see his namesake standing in the doorway.

Yuri’s hair was tied back in that half-ponytail style that suited him well. It made his blonde bangs frame his face and his eyes pop out. He was leaning back against the doorframe, peering over with cold, tired eyes, “Everything okay?”

“Yes, of course. I’m only doing laundry,” Yuuri tilted his head to the side, “Why would you ask? Do I look not-okay?”

“No,” Yuri crossed his arms, “You were just taking a stupidly long time.”

“And so you came up to check on me?” Yuuri smiled, “Aw, Yurio. I never knew you cared so much.”

Yuri scoffed with forced emphasis, “No! I just came to get my black tank top, that’s all. I need it for today and I can’t find it anywhere. I figured you would know where it is, since you’re the maid around here.”

“Ignoring the fact that you just called me a maid, are you talking about your nice black tank top? The t-framed one?”

“Yeah, that one. The one I used for ballet last season. Have you seen it? Yakov says I need it for today and I literally cannot go through the effort to look for it.”

“Hmm. Wait! Yes, actually! I think I just saw it,” Yuuri put the leggings into another bin, and started to sort through the basket that stored all the black athleticwear, “Why does Yakov say you need it for today? Does he, like, assign you specific clothes to wear for training?”

“Not always,” Yuri yawned, “He gave a reason why I needed it, but I’m gonna be honest, I wasn’t paying attention.”

“No?” Yuuri asked, searching for the tank top a little slower, with more caution, “That doesn’t really sound like you, Yurio.”

Yuri shrugged, “Sure it does. It sucks listening to Yakov. I can’t ignore him as easily as I can everyone else.”

Maybe it was just because Yuuri was over-worrying, or maybe it was because Yuri’s speech was slurring, dropping his consonants and elongating his vowels, but for whatever reason it was, Yuuri felt a knot tie in his gut.

“Did you get enough sleep last night, Yurio?” he asked, remembering how he oh-so-rudely woke him up just to kick him out of bed.

“I slept like an angel, not gonna lie,” a ghost of a smile played on Yuri’s lips, “All that crap last night put me in a sugar coma. I didn’t think I was going to be able to wake up this morning.”

“Yurio, you’re talking like-” he stopped himself, rethinking, “-Sugar doesn’t do that to a person. Not when all you had was just a few cookies and fruit. Sugar can be good for the body, especially for athletes like you.”

Yuri cocked an eyebrow, “And what medical school did you go to, exactly?”

“…”

“…”

“H-Hey, I found your tank top,” Yuuri muttered, his hands fumbling to unfold the fabric.

It really was nice material, it felt like silk but it was more firm than that. It looked and felt exceedingly expensive. For some reason, Yuuri always forgot how nicely Yuri dressed, often clothed in high-end streetwear, lavish brand-names, and of course the infamous tiger shirt.

Trying to lighten the mood a little, Yuuri got an idea and asked, “How’s your catching game?”   
He balled up the tank top in his hands, certain that the fine material wouldn’t wrinkle, and tossed it to the front door.

Yuri snagged it directly out of the air using one hand.

“Better than your throwing game,” he smirked, “You throw like a girl.”

Yuuri gawked, “Yurio!”

“What?”

“That’s rude!”

“What is?”

“What you said! Not to me, but to, you know, it’s rude to  _ girls,” _ he was dumbfounded that he even had to explain it, “Didn’t your mother teach you to respect women?”

“Oh my god, you’re such a fucking snowflake,” Yuri was rolling his eyes. He stuck up his middle finger, smiling innocently, “Don’t be so offended, Katsudon. Remind me to toughen you up sometime, seriously.”

He tossed his tank top up in the air, and then caught it with both hands.

“Thanks for finding this, by the way. I gotta go practice now before Yakov tears me to shreds,” he started to leave, but came back to add, “Victor’s waiting on you, by the way.”

“He is?” Yuuri slapped a hand to his forehead, “You couldn’t have  _ started _ by saying that?”

Yuri smirked mirthfully, and then strode off with his head held high.

He was in a good mood for someone so sick.

Yuuri had to put the laundry basket down. He had to tell himself to breathe. He had to stop mothering someone who didn’t need it.

He had to get back to Victor for training.

He found a good stopping point with his laundry work and headed back to the ice rink, speed-walking all the while. He felt less anxious when he saw Victor casually sitting down on one of the benches, reading an article on his phone for leisure. Victor looked up from the screen when he approached, “Hey, good morning, you~! That was the fastest I think you’ve ever done laundry! Apply that speed to your routine, and you might actually make it through the last sequence without getting fatigued.”

“I didn’t actually finish,” Yuuri explained, plopping down on the bench to tie his skates, “Sorry about that. After you sent Yurio to come get me, I didn’t want to make you wait much longer.”

Victor smiled oddly, tilting his head, “I never sent Yurio, love.”

“You didn’t-” Yuuri balked, “Did that little bugger seriously  _ lie _ to get me down to the ice?”

“Aww. He missed you so much that he lied right to your face,” Victor had a sparkle in his eye, “Should I start lying to you, too? Maybe I could learn a thing or two from him!”

_ “Victor,” _ Yuuri scolded, trying not to smile.

He tore his gaze from his skates, looking across the rink where Yuri was in the act of warming up, Yakov over his shoulder scrutinizing his every move. The stretches he was doing he learned from his time studying ballet; they were elongated and graceful, yet they looked painful all the same.

The tank top he wore was from his ballet era, too, though it didn’t fit him the same way it did back then. Right now, he was practically swimming in it, with his collar bone jutting out so grotesquely that-

Yuuri forbade himself from staring. He was going to seriously hurt Yuri’s feelings someday if he kept doing it.

He grabbed Victor’s hand— the hand with his engagement ring.

“I think we need to talk to Yakov.”

Victor smiled confusedly, like he was an idiot, “You want to talk to Yakov?”

“I think it’s the only option at this point,” Yuuri’s shoulders hunched, “It’s getting too hard to talk to Yurio himself. I used to argue with him in the break room about, you know, his  _ condition, _ all the time. But now that we’ve grown close- Well- I’m afraid of hurting his feelings, Victor, and it’s clear he doesn’t want to take instruction from me. I mean, we’re trying to be  _ friends, _ right? That’d be weird, if he… but- But I think he’ll listen to Yakov.”

Victor was sobering up rather quickly, his smile flattening to a firm line, “What the hell are you talking about, Yuuri? You sound so upset.”

“Victor, he isn’t eating right. Everyone can see— No, everyone  _ should  _ see it. I didn’t think it would be so much effort to have to explain that.”

Victor brought their entangled hands to his lips, kissing Yuuri’s ring finger delicately.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself, honey,” Victor murmured sweetly, “I know you care about him. We all do. You know, I was really thin when I was his age, too.”

“But it’s not just-” Yuri bit his lip, “Really? You think so?”

Victor nodded, giving him another kiss, “Honestly, dear. I’ve seen Yurio eat. The kid eats like a wolf. Remember when we met your parents, and your mom made all that pork cutlet?” he prompted, “I swear, Yurio finished his in like three minutes.”

“Well, that was like a year ago… Don’t you think that, you know, things could have changed since then? Or-”

“-And remember all those banquets and dinners we were all forced to have for the Grand Prix?”

“Well, yeah… but-”

“-You can’t deny how well he ate. He packed in more food than any of us.”

“Yeah…” Yuuri found himself smiling fondly at a memory, reminiscing blissfully, “Oh my god, his table manners were absolutely horrendous.”

Victor chuckled, “He had no right to call you a pig all those times, the way he ate. The hypocrite.”

“No etiquette whatsoever. I can’t imagine how his mother must feel, no manners, my goodness,” he laughed a little more, even though he didn’t find it funny. (Was it nervous laughter, then? Why was he  _ still _ laughing?)

“Honey,” Victor’s eyes narrowed suspiciously, “Yurio doesn’t have a mother.”

“No moth-”

He let go of Victor’s warm fingers, bringing both of his hands to cover his opened mouth.

“Oh god, seriously?”

The coach’s voice dropped, “I thought you knew that. Everyone knows that. No mother. No father. You’ve met his grandfather. I seriously thought you knew that, Yuuri.”

“W-Well, I mean- I knew he was close with his grandfather, but I didn’t think-” Yuuri’s breath was quickening, and it became a chore to breathe, “Oh, god, Victor. I  _ said _ something to him. About his mother not teaching him respect, I- Oh no, oh god, I would have never said something like that if I had- Do- Do you think he-?”

“-What’s the matter with you?”

“I didn’t mean to offend him, I-”

_ “-Breathe, _ love,” Victor said. He was stern and cold, but concern lingered in the depths of his blue eyes, “You’re going to work yourself into a panic attack if you keep this up.”

“I can’t believe I  _ said  _ that to him, I-”

“-Breathe. I beg of you. Focus on something and  _ breathe.” _

In the past moments of Yuuri’s distress, he liked to focus on Victor.   
Victor was stable, and solid, and soothing. Sometimes it was just the hue of his blue eyes or the feeling of Victor’s finger brushing against his knuckle that anchored Yuuri well enough to stop an anxiety attack before it consumed him.

But today, Yuuri couldn’t rely on him to keep him grounded. There was an intensity in his rigidity and a pensiveness about his concern.

So instead, he looked across the rink.

And Yuri was looking right back at him.

He was looking at him ruminantly, protectively. It looked like Yuri wanted to bolt across the rink and come to his aide that very instant.

But Yuri was locked in place, still doing his ballet stretches. He was in this awful position on the floor with one of his legs tucked in, and the other one practically defying the laws of human anatomy. Yakov had his hands locked around Yuri’s pelvis, holding him up from the ground, helping him stretch, but hissing some kind of chastisement in his ear.

Whatever criticism Yakov was giving, Yuri wasn’t paying attention. He was only looking at Yuuri.

And finally Yuuri’s breath returned.

He placed a hand over his diaphragm, breathing deeply with relief. He leaned in close to Victor on the bench, their sides touching, and whispered, “That actually explains a lot…”

That pensive stare in the blue of Victor’s eyes didn’t leave. If anything, it only intensified.

He latched onto Yuuri’s arm and stood from the bench, “Locker room. Now.”

Yuuri could feel Yuri’s eyes on the back of his neck as they went off, and he didn’t want to imagine the look on his face. When they were in the locker room, Victor locked the door behind them, and sat Yuuri down.

“Love-” he started, wincing on the word. He was grumbling under his breath in tired, rustic Russian. Victor didn’t seem angry, not really, but morbidly distubred.

“Victor?”

“I’m sorry. I just… I thought you might need more space. Quieter space. I thought the locker rooms would do.”

“Oh,” Yuuri folded his hands together in his lap, “Well, thank you. I feel better.”

The coach crossed his arms, “Do you want to repeat the last thing you said back there? I could barely hear you, you were whispering like you were distracted.”

“I was distracted, actually,” Yuuri admitted, smiling sadly, “I said that- That it makes sense. Yurio not having a mother. He’s just- He’s so lost… I feel like he has so much to learn, and- And it makes sense on my part, too. The way I feel I need to cosset him all the time. It’s like I need to fill some kind of void for him.”

Victor looked at him like he was an alien, “Do you really mean all that?”

“I think so… I guess I just wasn’t able to put it into words until now.”

“…”

“Victor?”

Victor knelt down, bringing himself to Yuuri’s eye level.

“I will talk to Yakov on one condition.”

“Condition? Why would-”

Victor placed a hand on Yuuri’s knee, “I will talk to Yakov about Yurio for you, I will. But I want you to start taking anxiety medication.”

The locker room was so quiet that Yuuri could hear the hum of music coming from the ice as Yuri’s ballad began to play.

“Or at least some kind of mood stabilizer. I think it would be good for you,” Victor insisted, not ungently, “You’ve been so stressed out lately. After the Grand Prix, I thought you’d just get over your nerves. But we’ve been home for months now and you’re still so anxious, and now you’re saying weird stuff like  _ that…  _ It’s- I think you need it.”

If Yuuri stayed really,  _ really _ quiet, he could even hear the sharp slicing sounds of Yuri’s skates as he began his routine.

“Yuuri, please say something. I don’t like not knowing what you’re thinking.”

“So you think I’m crazy?”

Victor squeezed his eyes shut like he was in pain, “Do you truly believe I think that about you?”

“No,” Yuuri admitted, “I just- I don’t understand. I haven’t really been that stressed, have I?”

“Kobuta-chan, you almost gave yourself a panic attack back there. Over  _ nothing.” _

“Over Yurio. That’s the thing, I’ve only been severely anxious about  _ him. _ Nothing else!”

“Okay, fine, but you  _ admit _ that you’re severely anxious!”

“Yes! Don’t I have a right to be?”

“A right to jeopardize your own health? No!”

“You want to talk about  _ health _ now?”

“For the love of God,  _ stop _ talking about Yurio-”

“-Do you not  _ care?” _

“I care about  _ you!” _

After he exploded, Victor bowed his head. He brought it down on Yuuri’s knee, resting his forehead in near-defeat, “Look, Yuuri, I’m sorry for yelling at you. I just hate seeing you so unhappy.”

“I’m sorry for yelling, too,” Yuuri said, his voice unsteady from all the shouting. He let his fingers run through Victor’s hair, marvelling at how soft and well-groomed it was, “And look, I’m sorry that my concerns are worrying you, but-”

“-I don’t think you are.”

Victor said it feather-softly, but it obliterated Yuuri’s heart all the same.

His fingers went still around silver locks, “What? I- I don’t-”

“-If you were sorry, you would actually do something about it,” Victor said bleakly.

They could hear Yuri’s skates grinding against the ice, swiveling, coiling, and snaking.

“I will talk to my doctor about meds,” Yuuri decided, pushing his glasses back up his nose, “But you must talk to Yakov.”

Victor lifted his head from his knee, “Okay.”

That was it? “Okay?” Nothing else?

Maybe nothing else needed to be said.

Yuuri sure as hell couldn’t think of anything to say, so maybe not.

“Yuuri?”

Okay.

They were talking now.

Apparently. Here they go.

“Mhm?” Yuuri responded, not trusting himself to try legitimate words.

“I’m sorry for, you know, all of this,” Victor said unsurely, not committing.

“It’s okay,” Yuuri replied with just as much uncertainty.

“Um, good,” Victor said, wiping his mouth. He stood up, but it was clear he wasn’t really going anywhere, “What, um, what do you want to-? You could go home if-”

Victor, being the poor coach that he was, never had any sense of direction.

“No,” Yuuri stood up, too, “I want to skate.”

He wanted some stress relief, some goodness.

Victor nodded, his jaw tight, “Okay. Um. Be sure to stretch, okay?”

“I’ll stretch afterwards,” Yuuri said. He walked past Victor straight out of the locker room, making a beeline for the ice.

The Russian Fairy was skating casually, not submerged in a routine, but gliding on his own accord. He was probably just milking his time free from criticism, because Yakov was nowhere to be found. When they locked eyes, Yuri didn’t look away.

He came striding over without a moment to spare. He took Yuuri by the crook of his elbow and dragged him off, pulling him all the way to the other side of the rink, not even addressing Victor.

Victor didn’t even seem surprised. If anything, he just looked disappointed.

To be honest, Yuuri wasn’t surprised to be absconded away either.

“Is he being an asshole again?” Yuri asked as soon as they were out of earshot.

That was a new thing Yuri was doing: keeping delegations private. Yuri was quite infamous for being a loudmouth, especially when he was talking (yelling) about people he didn’t like. But whenever he was talking with Yuuri, he was more subdued, more protective.   
Yuuri appreciated it more than words could describe.

They whispered as they skated side by side, almost touching.

“I’m not sure,” Yuuri answered, “We- um, we pretty much had a fight back there.”

Yuri’s fists clenched, his knuckles twitching, “That fucking jerk. How bad did he hurt you? Because I swear, I’ll-”

“-Not like a physical fight, Yurio! Nothing like that!” Yuuri scrambled to clarify, stage-whispering, “It was just, like, I don’t know. It was an argument. And I-”   
A smile escaped him.   
“I think I won.”

“You?” he raised an eyebrow,  _ “You _ won an argument?”

“Hey, I’m just as surprised as you are,” Yuuri confessed, chuckling under his breath a little, “I mean, it wasn’t really a deliberate win, but it wasn’t really a  _ fight _ either. It was just- I don’t know. But I pretty much won. I urged a compromise.”

“Did you finally talk to him about all the shit he’s putting you through?”

“He’s not putting me through sh- through- through  _ crap _ . We’re just in a rough patch, that’s all.”

“Yeah yeah, I’ve heard it all before,” Yuri rolled his eyes, “What’d you talk to him about, then? He looks pretty fucked up.”

“Fucked up” must have meant “disheartened.” When they skated past Victor, sitting off to the side and watching them skate, Yuuri saw nothing but remorse in his usually indifferent blue eyes.

“Just other things. Private things,” he replied, skating with his back towards his fiancé.

Yuri gave a  _ tsk _ sound, though it was weak and dull.

“You two stupid lovebirds can’t keep anything-” he started, and then stopped, gasping in a disordered breath of air, “-pr-private for the life of you.”

“Yurio? You okay?”

“I’m fine,” he spat, though he was breathing as if he’d been running now, “All I’m saying is- is you and your fucking fiancé…”

On their turn around the curve of the ice, Yuuri noticed his namesake swaying. He wavered back and forth with uncertainty, the blades of his loose skates stuttering across the ice’s surface. And with the sickly anaemic color in his face, it looked like Yuri was only seconds away from passing out cold.

Acting on instinct, Yuuri rushed to his side and wrapped his arms around him. He hoisted Yuri up from beneath his armpits, holding him upright like a decrepit scarecrow.

“Good God, Yurio!” he cried, horrified by how easy it was to keep him standing, how lightweight and malleable he was in his arms.

Yuri shook his head a couple of times, and then conjured the strength to push Yuuri away. On his own, he stood a little lankily, the green in his eyes dull and subdued.

Yuuri reached out to help him stand again, but Yuri backed away.

“I’m fine.”

“Yurio, please-”

“I’m fine, just-”

He was cut off when Yuuri hugged him around the midsection. He bolted forward to hug him with so much vigorousness that they were now drifting across the ice, the force of his movement gently pushing them backwards one centimeter at a time.

Was… was this his first time hugging Yurio?

He never got the chance to hug him back at the entry tournament for the Grand Prix, because Yuri ran away from him.

But right now, he wasn’t running. He wasn’t hugging back, but he wasn’t fighting. He was here, and that was enough.

“You’re annoying, Katsudon,” he mumbled sleepily.

“I know,” Yuuri said. For some reason he felt like crying.

“You know what would be funny?”

“Hm? What?”

“If Victor’s just pissed off because he’s jealous of all the attention you’re giving me,” Yuri gave a ghost of a laugh, his smirk gaunt and practically soulless.

Yuuri released the hug, “Wait a minute. You’re right. That’s what it is! He’s  _ jealous.” _

Yuri’s face fell, “What? No, wait, I was just making a stupid jo-”

“-I mean you  _ could _ be right. It- I guess it makes sense. But do you think Victor’s really that petty?”

“I was just joking,” Yuri muttered, “But I guess he  _ is _ stupid enough to get his feelings hurt over something like that.”

Yuuri glanced back across the ice, seeing that his fiancé hadn’t moved from his spot. He stood there, smiling sadly, watching the Yuris interact with a blatant attempt at stoicism. The hunch of his shoulders and the lack of commitment to his smile gave away all his insecurities.

“So  _ that’s _ what this is all about,” Yuuri stated, wonderful relief overpowering him. He had been fearing the worst about his love life with Victor, but now he realized their problem was just something trivial. It was a little mishap that could be addressed with only a brief conversation.

Maybe it was even a little… cute that Victor was jealous, and maybe it made Yuuri feel a little special.

“I’m gonna go get some water,” Yuri said, looking even worse for wear than he did a moment ago.

The state of him brought Yuuri back to attention.

“Oh, yes, of course. Please do,” Yuuri urged, “And sit down for a little while, okay? Take a breather. You’ve earned it.”

“Yakov won’t-”

“-If Yakov dares yell at you, he’ll have to face me. Okay?”

Yuri gave that exhausted, ghostlike smirk again, “I don’t think he’s gonna be intimidated by you of all people.”

“There’s a first time for everything. If I can win an argument with Victor, I might as well shut Yakov up on the same day,” Yuuri smiled, “Please. I insist. Go take a break.”

“Fine. But just know if Victor acts like an ass to you again, I’m knocking his brains out.”

“That sounds more than fair to me.”

For a moment there, everything felt right in the world, and Yuuri could hardly contain his relief.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuri is really, really unwell.
> 
> He's sick enough that Victor is finally starting to notice it, but he doesn't respond the way Yuuri would have hoped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for this chapter:  
> Suicide is /tentatively/ mentioned, just as an off-hand remark. But I figured it was worth the warning, just to be safe :)  
> Also Victor and Yakov say a few iffy things that could be perceived as insensitive to the ED community. Another very light warning just in case :)

Yuuri could hardly recall a time he’s ever felt so giddy in his life. He felt like a little kid on Valentine’s Day as he stalked up the hall of the ice rink, holding cologne in one hand and a handmade card in the other, a box of chocolates tucked under his arm.

If all Victor needed was a little attention, Yuuri could certainly provide that.

Really, it was no trouble to tap into his bank account for the cologne, or to spend four consecutive nights meticulously crafting the love card with doilies and calligraphy. The box of chocolates was an impulse purchase; Yuuri had only planned on giving him the cologne and the card, but when he passed the box in a shop’s window as he went on a walk through town this morning, he couldn’t help himself and bought it right there on the spot.  
Yuuri would do it all again a million times if it would keep Victor happy (and happily in love with him).

He made sure to hide the gifts behind his back as he approached the break room; it’s more fun this way, more of a surprise. Then he knocked on the door, stepping inside to see Victor lounging on one of the chairs. He had his headphones in, and he smiled when Yuuri came in.

“Good evening, dear. Is your break over already?” he asked.

“Actually Victor,” Yuuri felt his palms going clammy around the gifts behind his back, “I was hoping I could-”

“-Wait, just a moment. Before I forget!” Victor interrupted, removing his headphones, “I just remembered something. I have good news for you!”

Yuuri’s heart fluttered with excitement, “Good news?”

“That’s right! I went and spoke to Yakov, just like I told you I would.”

“Oh.”

The air in the room thickened, so stuffy it was hard to breathe it.

He took a seat next to Victor, preparing for the worst.

“And? What did Yakov have to say?”

Victor smiled at him, apparently immune to the tension in the room. He ruffled Yuuri’s hair, grinning with that godawful childlike obliviousness, “Don’t look so nervous, Kobuta-chan! He agreed with everything I said and appreciated the words I gave him. The good news is that he’s putting Yurio on a diet right now, so you won’t have to worry about a thing anymore. Isn’t that great?”

Yuuri’s grip around the gifts tightened, and he could feel his handmade card crumple in his hands.

“A _diet?”_

“That’s right,” Victor’s smile softened, “I thought you’d be more happy…”

“Why would I be happy, Victor? A diet? You can’t give someone like him a diet!”

“Oh, wait, hold on. Wait, wait, wait. I think I know why you’re confused,” Victor waved his hands, struggling to clarify, “Not like a weight-loss diet, if that’s what you’re thinking. A diet that’s supposed to get him more fit. To help him put on weight and muscle.”

“Oh. Well. I, um. I guess that’s…” Yuuri bit down on his tongue. He didn’t feel any better.

Victor’s eyes narrowed suspiciously, “I thought that’s what you wanted, Yuuri.”

“I just-” Yuuri made a sound akin to a whine, “I just don’t think that a diet would be good for someone… of his mental capacity. Does- Am I making sense? I don’t think he’ll be happy. That diet mentality, you know. I think it’ll hurt him worse than he’s already hurting.”

“What are you getting upset at me for?”

“U-Um,” Yuuri balked, “I never said I was.”

Victor didn’t flinch.

“Victor?”

“I asked why you were getting upset at me. I did what you wanted me to do, didn’t I?”

“I’m not upset at you, Victor, I just…” he stood up from his seat, “Where’s Yakov?”

Victor frowned like he was annoyed, “With Yurio.”

“Where?”

“I don’t know.”

“Are they here?”

“Yuuri, I don’t-”

He was interrupted by a loud noise, a noise that answered Yuuri’s question for him.

The sound was none other than the Russian Fairy, screaming like mad from down the hall. He was shouting insanely, belligerently, and it made Yuuri and Victor (who was seldom frightened) flinch, even from behind a closed door.

Yuuri was quick to run out of the break room, Victor right on his heels. Stumbling through the hall, they halted to witness the teacher and student neck and neck with each other.

Yuri was raging in violent curses, stamping his feet and swinging his fists through the air. He’s never looked so desperate in his life, with his nostrils flaring, his eyes bright, and his entire body tremoring with every word. His voice ascended in pitch and volume with every curse, so much so that it was breaking again and again, but he screamed on anyway.

The worst part, though, was that Yakov was screaming right back.

He wasn’t a large man, but he bellowed with the fervor of a titan. He was shouting in a way that no adult should ever shout at a child, and it made Yuuri’s veins run cold.

And he couldn't even understand a word of what they were saying; they were screaming in Russian.

“Victor?” he whispered, “What are they-”

The ashen look on Victor’s face was enough to tell him that he didn’t want to know the answer.

Yuri didn’t stop screeching until he noticed he was being watched.

He stared them down with those unrelenting viridian eyes and snarled, “The fuck are you looking at?”

“Yurio,” Yuuri squeaked out, “I only-”

“-The fuck is that you’re holding?” Yuri stomped forward, tearing the box of chocolates from Yuuri’s hands.

He had forgotten he was even holding Victor’s gifts in the first place.

As Yuri studied the box of chocolates, he broke into a grimace. His throat lurched like he was going to cry, or vomit, or both.

“Fucking chocolates?” he spit out. The grimace on his face softened, withering into a tiny, insecure frown. His abused voice was barely above a whisper, “So you’re in on this, too, Katsudon? You and Yakov and Beka…? Trying to fucking fatten me up like I’m- Like-…”

“Oh, Yurio… _no._ Listen, please, I only-”

“-Like I can’t take care of- Like I-” Yuri stammered over himself, the box of chocolates shaking like madness in his grip.

He didn’t know what he was saying at all, that much was painfully obvious. And it hurt even more when he tried speaking in Russian, but stuttered with just as much uncertainty. Not even his native language could validate what he was feeling.

After what felt like horrible, bloodcurdling, disgustingly elongated minutes of a stuttering fit so violent it looked like a seizure, Yuri took in a deep breath, closing his eyes.  
When he opened them again, his gaze was needle-sharp, _“Nenavizhu tebya.”_ _  
_ Yuri somehow already knew that Yuuri wanted to hug him. He knew. 

So he immediately whipped around and ran. He bolted away down the hall, ignoring Yakov and Victor calling for him in desperate, cluttered Russian and ignoring Yuuri, who stood there speechless.

He carefully stooped down to pick up the box of chocolates, which Yuri had thrown down in his haste.

Yuuri didn’t need a translation. Nenavizhu tebya. Miraculously, he already knew; the words were cogent.

Nenavizhu tebya: I hate you.

He held the chocolates in his hands, and then looked Yakov directly in the eye.

“Nenavizhu tebya,” he said with perfect poise.

The indiscretion on Yakov’s face was almost pitiful. Yakov had bags under his eyes and a grimace in the corner of his lip; it was odd that Yuuri hadn’t noticed it until now. He looked tired, on the verge of giving up.

“…Will be in my office,” Yakov muttered in the most broken attempt at Japanese Yuuri had ever heard, “Will revise the diet plan. Might as well discard it. Think of something else.”

On any sensible day, Yuuri would have requested more, a diplomatic request from athlete to coach. But today was not a sensible day, and Yakov simply leaving the room would be more than enough relief right now.

“You got chocolates for Yurio?” Victor inquired as soon as they were alone.

“What?” it took a minute for Yuuri to remember himself, “Oh. Oh, no. I didn’t. I, um-”

He weakly presented the cologne, the crumpled-up card, and the desolate box of chocolates.

It didn’t feel like a romantic gesture, it felt more like surrendering.

But the smile on Victor’s face was enough to assuage his discomfort. Victor wasn’t smiling in that soulless blasé way Yuuri had grown to hate; no, this time, Victor was smiling with his eyes, soft and saccharine.

“Yuuri,” he whispered, admiring the card as if it were fine art, “I- Why would-”

“-I figured you needed some attention,” Yuuri shrugged, “I just wanted to do something nice for you.”

There was a beat of rest, and then Victor leaned down and kissed him.

It was undoubtedly the most tender and benevolent kiss they had shared in months. For the first time in a long time, Yuuri actually felt something more than just Victor’s lips against his, he felt Victor’s heart and soul, too. By the time they parted, Yuuri had fallen in love with him all over again, espying all the repose and mirth twinkling in his lover’s eyes.

“Yuuri… thank you.”

“You’re welco-”

“-No, _really,_ Yuuri,” Victor held the gifts against his chest, “Thank you… I don’t know what I did to deserve this. If anything, I thought you’ve been getting mad at me, with all the cancelled dates and everything.”

“Not mad, just-” Yuuri took his glasses off so he could pinch his nose, feeling weaker with each passing second, “-Just lonely, Victor.”

“…I’m sorry.”

“…Thank you.”

“And I’m sorry about Yurio, too,” Victor said, stepping forward, “Looking back, I don’t… I don’t really know what I was thinking. I guess I just didn’t know how bad-”

“-Oh my god, Yurio!” he slapped his glasses back on his face, “I need to go after him!”

“You don’t need t-” Victor started, and then stopped himself. He was frowning, rethinking, “If- if you think you should, I guess. You probably know what you’re doing… don’t you?”

“Not really,” he said, hastily zipping up his coat.

Victor nodded, unsure of himself, “You- You go do your thing. Talk to him, I guess. I’ll talk to Yakov.”

“Thank you,” Yuuri pecked his cheek, “Really. We can talk later, okay?”

“Yes we can. Over dinner,” Victor suggested, smiling a little, “I won’t skip this time.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Yuuri kissed his cheek again, an apologetic gesture before he went off to fetch Yurio.

Luckily for him, Yuri hadn’t made it difficult to be found. (And Yuuri couldn’t help but silently wonder if that meant the punk _intended_ to be found.) When he ran out of the arena, Yuri had gone through the back entrance, which led to nothing but an enclosed alleyway occasionally used as a spare parking garage. There were no cars in it today, only Yuri, who stood with his back against the cement walls, his head clutched manically between his hands.

When Yuuri cautiously approached him, he realized with horror that the Fairy was breathing heavily. Far too heavily. His face between his hands was pale, but his cheeks and nose were pink with struggle. His elbows were jutted out, straining to expand his ribs so he could breathe, but it was all for naught; his inhales were only anguishing gasps and his exhales couldn’t keep up.

Having experienced something similar too many times to count, Yuuri was picked up on the signs all too easily.

His hand twitched with the urge to touch Yuri’s shoulder, “Yurio, Yurio-chan, are- are you having a panic attack? Oh God, you’re having a panic attack. Listen, hey, look at me, listen to-”

“-No,” Yuri made a choking sound, waving his hand, “I’m not, I just-”

He gasped again, and Yuuri just _barely_ managed to hold himself back from touching him.

“Yurio, _please,_ I know what I-”

“-I’m not!” Yuri exclaimed, “I just-” he gasped again, this time less violently, taking the time to breathe until he could strain for words again, “I just… ran. I can’t- I-I ran too fast. Couldn’t-” another gasp, “-couldn’t keep up…”

He held his arms expanded as they were, laboring and laboring with each breath.

Yuuri assessed him with gentle scrutiny. It didn’t seem like Yuri was lying. He was in control of his headspace, at least, not succumbing to tortuous delusions and excruciating anxiety; he just wasn’t breathing the right way.

He watched Yuri’s inhales gradually become less violent, noticing the rhythm that picked up between each breath (and purposefully avoiding staring at the bones of Yuri’s protruding rib cage, and how they expanded and depressed with each one.)

“Yurio, do you have asthma?” he asked gently, non-invasively.

“No,” Yuri croaked, suddenly exhausted, “I just- h-haven’t been breathing right… when I run.”

“Don’t you go for a run every morning?”

Yuri didn’t answer.

“Is it like this every morning? When you run? That- That isn’t _normal,_ Yurio.”

Yuri squeezed his eyes shut like he was in pain, “Stop acting like you know what you’re talking about. I’m sick of it.”

The words hurt; they made it feel like something was eating and drilling away at the center of his heart. The words hurt because they were true: Yuuri knew nothing.

A sudden wince in the teen’s posture seized Yuuri’s attention, and the next thing he knew, he was once again watching Yuri clutch his chest in pain. He was gritting his teeth and gurning, probably screaming on the inside, and Yuuri could hardly bear the sight of.

“You’re right, I don’t know what you’re going through!” Yuuri spoke on impulse, not even registering the words falling out of his mouth, “And I’m sorry! I’m sorry I don’t know! But I want to help you.”

“I don’t need-”

“-Come on, Yurio! Please don’t be like that! You _know_ you need hel-”

“-Well, I don’t _want_ it, okay?” Yuri snapped, glowering through his pain.

Yuuri flinched.

He lowered his head. He thought he had learned to tolerate Yuri’s aggression in their years of knowing each other, he thought he had grown accustomed to it. But today, it felt so different from his usual truculence; today, it was dire and calamitous, and Yuuri was afraid he couldn’t contain it.

“I- um,” Yuuri licked his lips nervously, “I’m going to my doctor later this week. I promised Victor I would. T-To talk about meds. I was- um, I was thinking you… You should come with me, Yurio.”

“I fucking hate doctors.”

“Yurio…”

“No. I fucking hate doctors. I’d rather kill myself.”

“Yurio… please…”

“… Goddamn, Katsudon. You’re crying.”

Yuuri turned away, taking off his glasses to wipe at his blotchy face.

He started to loathe himself. Yuri was the one in pain, his lungs were practically ripping him apart from the inside out. Yuri was the one with an unstable family background, no parents and a grandfather thousands of miles away. Yuri was the one, the only one, who should be crying right now.

But _Yuuri_ was crying, and he felt nothing but raw, utter shame for it.

If only he were more assertive, more confident in himself, he would be able to steer him in the right direction, and take charge when needed, and god dammit, then everything would be okay.

But Yuuri wasn’t; he was so stupidly empathetic and passive, and now they were both suffering because of it, because of _him._

The next thing he knew, there was a hand on his shoulder.

“Pull yourself together, Katsudon. You make such a dumb face when you cry,” Yuri said. Despite his words, nothing about his tone was threatening.

His concern made Yuuri remember himself. Embarrassed, he laughed and wiped his face, putting his glasses back on.

Yuri, unfamiliar with physical contact, wasn’t really sure what to do with his hand on Yuuri’s shoulder, so he just patted it awkwardly and said, “I, um. I’ll go to the doctor with you. … But you have to stop making that dumb face. I’m sick of that, too.”

“Aww, wait, Yurio,” he was tearing up again, but this time for all the right reasons, “You’d really…? Thank you.”

“Don’t say ‘thank you…’”

“Okay, I won’t, then,” Yuuri let out a nervous giggle, “Can I hug you, Yurio? I, um, sort of forgot to ask for your consent the first time.”

“No.”

“Oh,” Yuuri blinked, “Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

“-Shut up, stop,” Yuri sighed, sounding impossibly even _more_ exhausted, “It’s not you. It’s me. It’s-” he made a noncommittal gesture to his chest, “My ribs, they just- they hurt. My ribs hurt. Everything hurts. And I’m tired. Okay?”

Yuuri nodded, stifling his concern, “Do you want to go home? I think we’ve trained enough for the day. You could use some rest.”

And a meal. Or two. Or three. Or-

“Yakov would lose his shit if I left early.”

“I don’t think he will, not today.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

A small smile escaped Yuuri before he could help it, “I sort of, um, told him off? I guess? He’s kind of, like… I don’t even know. He’s all holed up in his office, though, and I don’t think he’s leaving any time soon.”

Yuri smirked tenuously, “You won an argument with Victor and told Yakov off in the same week… Be careful, Katsudon. It looks like I’m wearing off on you. Keep it up and you’ll turn into a baddie.”

Yuuri’s smile was full-spread now, radiating from ear to ear.

“Let’s go home, okay? I think we both need it.”

“Katsudon?”

“…Yes, Yurio?”

“Were the chocolates-?” he didn’t finish the thought, immediately shifting to a new one, “I didn’t mean it when I said I hated you. You- You’re just so fucking annoying sometimes. But I don’t hate you,” he smirked a little, almost smiling, “You’re actually kind of cool for a second-rank figure skater.”

“I had a feeling you didn’t mean it,” Yuuri admitted, his chest warming, “And therefore I have a feeling you don’t think I’m actually a second-rank figure skater either.”

“You wish,” Yuri laughed hoarsely. Genuinely, but hoarsely.

Then Yuuri got an idea. A bad one.

“Yurio?”

“Yeah?”

“But did- Did you mean it when you said you’d rather-” he struggled even saying it, “You know, kill yourself?”

“Of course not, idiot. I was just being a dramatic bitch,” he rolled his shoulders back, “Let’s go back to the house already. It stinks here and I want a shower.”

“Okay, we can, we can, but-” Yuuri bit the inside of his cheek, “But, like, you’d tell me if you did mean it, right? You’d tell me?”

“I didn’t mean it, Katsudon, I was just fucking around. Calm down.”

“But if you _did,_ would you-”

“-I said calm down,” Yuri hissed. He brought a hand to his forehead, “Don’t get your panties tied up on a knot, okay? I haven’t had thoughts like that and I never will so you don’t need to worry about it. I’m not as fucked up as you think I am. Calm down.”

Yuuri felt himself nodding. Whether he actually agreed or not, he didn’t know.

“Okay, I will.” he said, faking a smile, “Let’s go home now and relax, and later, we can plan for the doctor’s visit. How does that sound?”

“Fucking terrific,” Yuri said, before stifling a yawn and going back inside.

* * *

It was pretty ironic how during the first at-home dinner date Yuuri and Victor had in weeks, Yuuri wasn’t engaged.

Okay, it was actually _very_ ironic. It was a slap to the face with irony. Yuuri had been yearning for quality time with Victor for forever now, and tonight he finally had it, but he was focused on something else entirely.

He sat at the kitchen table, hunched over his laptop, cup of tea at his side, while Victor was at the stove cooking dinner. Victor chipperly recounted his day as he cooked, but Yuuri only caught every third word. He honestly would have liked to listen to his fiancé with more attention just as much as he would have liked to help him cook dinner, but what he was doing was more important tonight.

“-and I’ve been meaning to tell you, your Salchow in the third sequence today?” Victor made a delighted sound of praise, “Absolutely divine! You’re really improving, love.”

“Oh?” Yuuri took a sip from his tea so Victor wouldn’t see him blush, “Thank you, Victor. That’s really sweet of you.”

Victor grinned, his hand moving along the cutting board with the same rhythmic grace and diligence he inhabits when he ice-skates, “Working hard over there, hon? I’ve never seen you so concentrated.”

“Just thinking,” Yuuri hummed, embracing the warmth of his tea mug as his eyes lazily reread the paragraph on his computer screen.

“Thinking of me?” Victor teased, “I’m flattered.”

“I’m thinking we should end our stay in Hasetsu early and go back to St. Petersburg.”

Victor stopped cutting.

His eyes rolled up to the ceiling as they typically do when he’s thinking, “Now, as much as I love St. Petersburg, darling, I know you aren’t as fond of it as you are here. Why would you suggest that, exactly?”

“Well, I’ve been looking for eating disorder therapies around Hasetsu,” Yuuri began, indicating the countless open tabs on his computer screen, “And the closest one is all the way in Tokyo. And even then, it isn’t even really a counseling facility, just a treatment one. Like, the rehab kind where they lock you up for a few months. I’ve been doing research for the past few hours and I think I found a good therapist for Yurio, one who’s really close to the rink we use in St. Petersburg. I think it might be a good idea.”

Victor chuckled, “The little tiger needs a therapist now?”

“Yes?” Yuuri arched an eyebrow, “For his eating disorder? It’s not like you could have forgotten.”

The corner of Victor’s smile twitched, “Are we sure he even has an eating disorder?”

“Vic…”

Victor put the knife down on the cutting board. He rubbed his face between his hands “Look, I’m sorry. I don’t know what I said to upset you, but I’m-” he made a weird, open gesture with his hand, “-I’m still learning about… well,  _ all _ of this. I still don’t know a lot. I’m really trying here. Please be patient with me.”

“Of course I will. Always,” Yuuri assured, “But that’s the thing: I don’t know a lot about what’s going on either. I realized that when I was talking to him back in the alley. That’s why he needs a therapist, Victor. There are people out there trained to help with these kinds of things.”

“‘These kinds of things’ being…” Victor tilted his head, “an eating disorder?”

Yuuri accidentally hesitated, “Well. I’m not a doctor,” he pointed to one of the tabs on his computer screen, “But I’ve read that they can be self-diagnosable. I think that means people in a close circle can diagnose, too.”

“Hm,” Victor frowned, “Isn’t anorexia, like, just a thing for teenage girls, though?”

“Oh god, Victor, no. Don’t say things like that.”

Victor grumbled under his breath, going back to cooking dinner, “You can’t get mad at me for ignorance, love, I’m only trying to understand.”

“I know,” Yuuri said, feeling a tad guilty with himself, “And I appreciate it. Really.”

Victor muttered something semi-sweet in response, but Yuuri more or less tuned it out.

He finished up his research and closed his computer with a sigh, “Just don’t let Yurio hear you say things like that, okay? He might not be as tolerant.”

“‘Tolerant’ is my fucking middle name.”

Fiancé and fiancé alike gawked in surprise when they noticed Yuri sulk into the kitchen, brooding against the doorframe.

“Yurio!” Victor cheered, coming forward to embrace him (because eccentricism was always his cover-up for embarrassing mishaps such as now), “I missed you! You’ve been gone so long!”

“If you even think about hugging me, I’ll kick you in the balls,” Yuri grumbled. He had just come from the shower, apparently, because his hair was soaking wet and a towel rested across his lithe shoulders.

He definitely looked better after his shower, he was more awake and refreshed compared to earlier. Though Yuri still spoke with a concerning degree of lethargy, most of his words slurring together unnaturally.

But Yuuri didn’t need to say that out loud. Baby steps, Yuuri, baby steps. Celebrate the little things.

“Such aggression, I love it!” Victor laughed, “I guess I have to expect that coming from you. Will you be eating dinner with us, Yurio?”

He hesitated for too long.

“I was going to eat later,” he said finally, “On my own, actually.”

Victor made a face, “Why?”

Yuuri made a warning gesture with his hand, “Victor.”

“I want to ask why, honey, so I can better underst-”

“-He doesn’t have to answer you, Victor. He can-”

“-Dearest, I only want to know why he can’t eat with us. Why is that a problem?”

“I never said it was a problem, I just-”

“-Well, you’re acting like it’s a problem!”

“It’s because of the way you’re asking it, Victor! You’re being insensitive!”

“Why do you always assume I’m threatening him? Am I so cruel? Am I seriously that horrible to you?”

“…”

“…” 

“… I’m actually gonna go to bed instead,” Yuri said, wringing the towel between his hands, “Maybe I’ll call Beka first. But I’m going to bed.”

Yuuri hated to think this, but perhaps for the first time, Yuri had a legitimate reason to go to bed without dinner.

“I understand,” he said, “Sorry for all the noise. We’ll, um, we’ll try to keep it down.”

Yuri gave him an odd look, a bead of water running down the bridge of his nose. He lingered there for a moment longer, husk-like and ghastly, before he turned over his shoulder and made for the guest bedroom. Yuuri was surprised he didn’t slam the door behind him.

When the Fairy ws gone, Victor promptly plated dinner on the table, huffing a little under his breath. He took out a large vase of sake, not even hesitating before serving himself and Yuuri double, nearly triple, what they should be drinking.

Yuuri, who avoided drinking as much as possible since the banquet incident, looked at the sake a little nervously.

“Victor?” he prodded, “What’s this for?”

Victor downed his miniature cup like it was nothing, not even flinching from the heat of the drink. He held his empty glass high in the air and declared, “For the journey ahead, my dear!”

He poured himself another cup, “Because I can already tell, Yuuri, we have a long, _long_ one ahead of us.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuri hurts himself on a run, and Yuuri discovers something he probably wasn't supposed to find.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry, I sort of feel like this chapter is all over the place HHHHHHH- let me know how it pans out?
> 
> Also, I have to address that I read a lot of really kind comments from the last chapter. Thank you for all the support, it really motivates me <3
> 
> Trigger warnings for this chapter: mild injury, graphic description of needles

The night before the doctor’s visit, Yuuri didn’t sleep. He stared at the ceiling all night long while Victor muttered through his dreams, softly spooning him through the night.

At least one of them was sleeping well.

By the time dawn broke, Yuuri accepted that his body wasn’t going to allow him any sleep, and decided to get out of bed.

He heard the soft _clack clack_ of Makkachin’s nails following him to the kitchen, where he fetched the kettle from an overhead cabinet. He gave the poodle a scratch behind the ears, “Did you sleep well, Makka?”

Makkachin licked Yuuri’s fingers, wagging his tail.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he said, filling the kettle with water and setting it over the stove’s flames.

Makkachin at his side, he slowly but surely began going through his morning routine. With each chore, Yuuri felt a little more awake. Something about domestic chores such as this gave him revitalization; he appreciated it more than anything today, considering the event ahead of him.

Not too long after the kettle screamed its steamy, shrill sound, he felt a pair of arms encircle his back.

“Hey, dear,” Victor muttered sleepily, hugging Yuuri from behind, “G’morning…”

“Good morning,” Yuuri replied. He wanted to hug him in return, but it was too awkward with Victor latching to his back, so instead he just said, “Would you like tea?”

“Mhm…” Victor mumbled, still half-asleep. He took the cup of tea graciously, moving to sit down at the table, “Back in Russia we drank vodka for breakfast.”

“I’m glad we’re not in Russia,” Yuuri remarked, bumbling around the kitchen, “Would you like milk or honey, Victor?”

“Sugar’s fine.”

“One cube or two?”

“Three,” Victor smiled over the lip of his mug, only half-teasing.

As requested, three sugar cubes were dropped in, and the coach smiled gratefully. He stirred the top part of the tea, the spoon only reaching half-way down the mug. Yuuri couldn’t help but think about the lumps of sugar falling to the bottom, completely untouched and unswayed by noncommittal stirring.

“So what are you doing on our day off from training today, love?” Victor asked, not unsweetly, “Any big plans?”

“My doctor’s visit. Remember?” Yuuri replied, sitting down across from him with Makkachin at his heels, “And I’m taking Yurio, too.”

“To the doctor?”

“Yes.”

Victor nodded, a wrinkle of concern forming on his forehead, “That sounds like a good idea.”

“I’m glad you think so.”

Victor went on nodding, methodical and enclosed. Then, he gave an exaggerated yawn, “Weeeell… as for me, I’m not doing anything nearly as exciting today. Though I am going to talk to Yakov.”

Yuuri hesitated, “…About?”

“About moving back to St. Petersburg early.”

Yuuri smiled, “Really?”

“Really really.”

“You’d do that?” he could hardly contain his excitement, “So that means you’re on-board, then? With Yurio’s… condition, and everything.”

Victor didn’t answer at first. He stirred his tea listlessly, the sugar still sluggishly sitting and sticking to the bottom.

“I want to support him and his health,” Victor said at last, “And I want to support your taking care of him. I love both of you dearly, and I want what’s best for you.”

Yuuri didn’t take the bait, “There’s going to be a ‘but,’ isn’t there?”

“No, honey, it’s just- You aren’t-… _We_ aren’t Yurio’s parents, honey.”

“I know. You’ve made me aware I’m not his mother a hundred times now. I think I’ve got it.”

“No, Kobuta-chan. Listen. Please,” Victor pursed his lips, “I really want to help him. I just mean that we cannot _legally_ have him get help. Legitimate help, anyway. He’s a minor, so he can’t sign up for it on his own, either.”

“Oh,” Yuuri balked, “…I hadn’t thought of that.”

“That, and,” Victor eased into it gracefully, “Do you know if he even wants help in the first place?”

“He… sort of said he didn’t want it.”

“Okay,” Victor stirred his tea even slower, “So does that mean you’re going to force him? Or just let him be?”

Yuuri couldn’t answer. His mouth was as dry as chalk.

“I’m going to support you, dear. With either choice you make, I’m fully committed.”

For some reason, Victor’s words didn’t make him feel any better. If anything, he only felt worse, and his throat was getting dryer.

He felt a shift under the table, when Makkachin jumped up with a start. He wagged his tail, whining a little, and scurried to the front door.

Victor stood up after him, “What in the world-?”

The door swung open violently, the metal handle hitting the wall with a _bang._ A very disheveled Yurio, clad in oversized athletic-wear, stumbled inside. Makkachin yipped for his attention, but Yuri wasn’t paying the poodle any mind. He didn’t even look in Victor and Yuuri’s general direction. He just pulled his hood down over his face and started speed-walking to his bedroom.

“Woah woah woah, hold up there, Yura!” Victor cried, moving to his side, “What’s the rush? What’s up, tiger?”

“‘m gonna shower,” Yuri muttered, hiding his face behind his hoodie.

He moved like he was going to walk around, but Makkachin started jumping back and forth in front of him, blocking his path. The dog jumped like he was a herder with Yuri as his angry sheep, keeping him in his boundaries.

Yuuri stepped in, “Were you just on a run, Yuri?”

“Can I just shower already?” Yuri tried to break past, but the poodle jumped up on him again, this time knocking into him so roughly that he stumbled back.

Yuri didn’t fall, but the hood over his head did, and all of a sudden, it was clear why he was trying to hide.

“Holy shit, Yura!” Victor exclaimed.

It wasn’t the gauntness of his emaciated face that was alarming; both Victor and Yuuri had become used to it by now. It was the bulging bruise by the Russian Fairy’s temple and the rough scrapes down the side of his face that made Yuuri’s stomach do a somersault. Just the sight of his face beaten and bruised to a pulp like that, with the perpetually fragile state he was in, made him too numb for words.

Victor, though, was far more assertive. Being the touchy-feely gentle giant that he was, he took Yuri’s face in his hands, cradling his hollow cheekbones between his fingers.

Yuri tried to pull away, but Victor tugged him back, locking him in place with the dominating prowess of a god.  
“Don’t go!” he cried, “Did you get in a fist-fight or something, Yurio?”

“Why are you assholes always _grabbing_ me?” Yuri snarled, struggling to twist out of Victor’s grip.

Sensing his distress, Victor tentatively tore his hands away from Yuri’s face, moving as if he were trapped in molasses, and Yuri glared at him the entire time, pressing his lips together in a tight, fine line.

“Yurio, what happened?” Yuuri asked tentatively, stepping in to separate him and Victor, “You’re hurt.”

“I’m not-”

“Yurio-”

“I _tell_ you, I’m not-”

“-Shut up, Yura!” Victor cried, not angrily but dismally, “Please! You’re scaring Yuuri!”

The blonde finally stopped struggling. He looked at Yuuri in a panic, the whites around his eyes glistening with fear.

Yuuri only gave him a soft nod, incapable of giving any reassurance through his overwhelming concern.

“Did you get in a fight again, Yura?” Victor asked pitifully, a degree softer.

Yuri lowered his head, the bruise on his temple prominent and disheartening, “No.”

“No?”

“No.”

Victor looked to Yuuri, wordlessly asking for help.

Yuuri had to clear his throat, “Yurio?”

He lifted his head, sweaty blonde bangs falling down over his eyes.

“Can you tell me what happened? Please?”

“…I fell.”

Yuuri and his fiancé made eye contact for a split-second.

“Do you mean… While on your run?” Yuuri questioned lightly, “While you were running, you fell. Is that what you’re saying?”

“Yeah.”

“Why’d you fall? Did you trip over something?” Victor asked. He had his arms crossed, but he didn’t look angry.

Yuri only shrugged.

“You fainted, didn’t you?” Yuuri asked.

The teen just shrugged again, his posture the worst it’s ever been. He pulled the hood back over his forehead and said nothing more.

Once again, fiancé and fiancé made eye contact.

Yuuri was the one who broke it, stepping forward, “Come with me to the bathroom. I can get you cleaned up before we go to the doctor’s office.”

Much to his surprise, it didn’t take any convincing—on Yuri’s part, that is. Victor, on the other hand, appeared morbidly uneasy. He was ghastly white, and he stuttered when he said, “I-I don’t think that’s-”

“-We’ll be fine.”

“I don’t think-”

“-Victor, we’re fine,” he hooked his arm around Yuri’s and promptly turned on his heel. As they started towards the bathroom, Victor made a move like he was going to stop them, but Yuri gave him the middle finger, and he backed off.

Yuuri closed the bathroom door with a sigh, leaning back against the panelled wood.

His namesake plopped down on the sink counter, crossing his arms, “Why’s your fiancé so weird this morning?”

“He was acting really normal until you showed up,” Yuuri said, opening a cabinet beneath the sink, “No offense, of course.”

“Then why was he so edgy when we just said we were going to the fucking bathroom?”

“I-” Yuuri sighed, “I don’t know, Yurio. I can’t read his mind. And I don't really care to at the moment.”

Yuri crossed his arms, “I really hate him sometimes.”

He didn't elaborate on it, he just waited patiently while Yuuri sorted through the cabinet.

“I’m trying to find some kind of antiseptic,” he explained, “Those cuts look kind of nasty. I think they need to be cleaned out. What did you fall on, exactly?”

“Concrete.”

Yuuri winced, “Ow. That explains it.”

Yuri just shrugged.

“Hang on tight. I’m sure there’s got to be something in here,” Yuuri encouraged, still rummaging through the cabinet. He grew more and more distressed the longer he searched, finding nothing but deodorant caps, tubes of toothpaste, and folded hand towels.

Eventually, he found a sleek, black bag in the back of the cabinet. It caught his attention because he realized that he’s never seen it before. He frowned, turning it over in his hands.

“I know you’re upset, but don’t hate Victor, okay?” Yuuri said as he unzipped the bag, “I know that sometimes it doesn’t feel like it, but he’s really tryi-”

It was the sight of a long, slender syringe in the bag that took Yuuri’s breath away. The collection of needles sat there menacingly, threateningly, like an arsenal of miniature spears all resting behind barbed wire.

He made a choking sound.

“Katsudon?”

“Yurio, what- Is this yours?” he asked, his voice breaking.

“No,” Yuri’s eyes narrowed with sober concern, “What? What is it?”

“I- I don’t know. But if it isn’t yours, and it isn’t mine, then whose-”

There was a knock at the bathroom door.

“Love? Yura?” Victor called sweetly, “I’m sorry to bother you. But I wanted to ask if you planned on taking the train or walking to the doctor’s office.”

“Uh,” Yuuri’s tongue tied in his mouth. Of all the things Victor could have said, Yuuri certainly wasn’t expecting that.  
“Uh, I don’t know. We didn’t really talk about it. Do you have a preference, Yurio?”

“Walking.”

“… After you already ran this morning?”

“Fuck you, I like walking,” Yuri said too quickly.

Victor knocked on the door with his fist once more, “Then you had better get going! Walking takes more time. You might be late!”

The Yuris made eye contact.

If Yuuri had taken this moment to confront Victor— about what, specifically? Yuuri didn’t know. The syringe. The rudeness. The hesitancy. The lovelessness. The soullessness.  
If he had taken this moment to address Victor first and Yuri second, then maybe, just maybe, things would have ended up differently in the near future. Maybe things would have ended up better.

But that wasn’t the choice he made.

“We’re coming!” Yuuri called through the door. He rushedly zipped the syringe and needles back inside the bag, and then rose to his feet, urging Yuri to do the same.  
“Come along. The doctor should be able to patch you up better than I ever could, anyway.”

* * *

The waiting area of Yuuri’s doctor’s office was silent, but comfortably so. No one else was present except for the receptionist in the corner, who multitasked between playing sudoku and filing paperwork online. Yuuri sat in a chair, patiently waiting, while Yuri was spread-eagling two chairs, his head rolled back with sheer and utter boredom as he scrolled through social media.

As Yuuri waited, he looked at one of the pictures hanging on the wall, a black and white photograph of various medicines and doctoral supplies. He eyed the syringe and needles, feeling sick to his stomach as he remembered his unsettling discovery earlier this morning.

The queasy feeling in his stomach intensified, taking over his whole body.

Then he realized that his stomach was in legitimate pain, and that was an understatement. His stomach _ached._ It tore him apart from the inside, screaming with emptiness. Wincing a little, Yuuri realized that in his haste from earlier, he had forgotten to eat breakfast. Now he was suffering the dreaded, empty consequence.

Yuuri cringed, pulling a hand to his abdomen. He couldn’t help but wonder if this is what Yuri felt like every day, all day. It was difficult to fathom, and the thought of enduring this kind of pain every day, all day, made his stomach feel even sicker.

His namesake noticed his discomfort, “You okay, Katsudon? Got tapeworms or something?”

“I just need something to eat,” he said, opening up his wallet, “You probably need something, too, right?”

Counting the crumpled bills in his hand, Yuuri approached the vending machine on the far side of the waiting room. It was probably only designated for staff members, because truly, it was both unorthodox and oxymoronic to maintain a candy machine in a doctor’s office. Whether it was intended for employees only or not, there were few enough people present that Yuuri didn’t think it would matter.

Besides, if anyone dared to tell Yuuri he was doing something wrong by buying a little snack or two, all he had to do was say that it was for Yuri; just one glance at the convalescent, and anyone would drop to their knees, shove more money in Yuuri’s hands, and beg for him to buy everything in stock.

The machine’s glass glistened with the shine of a new polish, the candies inside twinkling like neon lights in downtown Tokyo. Scanning across the overzealous wrappers and corporational logos, Yuuri noticed a particular snack that caught his attention.

After paying the correct due and waiting for the machine to drop the snack, Yuuri came back to the waiting area, shaking the bag a little in his hands.

“Hey Yurio, guess what?” he sat back down, “They had one of your favorites.”

“Hm?” Yuri barely looked up from his phone screen.

“I remember you eating these cookies on our ‘Netflix and chill’ night,” Yuuri reminisced fondly, opening the packet, “There’s a lot in this bag here, enough to split. How many do you want?”

Yuri looked at the cookie bag peculiarly. He stared at it without blinking, and then went back to his phone and said, “None.”

“I thought you liked these,” he rebutted.

“I don’t want any.”

“But you really liked them, didn’t you?” he accidentally made it sound like he was whining.

“I said I don’t want any.”

“But, I mean- You- Yurio, you ate _a lot_ of them that night.”

In a sheer moment, Yuri was crestfallen. The color in his face died away, leaving nothing but a frightful greyish shade in his lips as they pulled into a wince.

Oh God. Yuuri had said the wrong thing. He said the wrong thing. Hesaidthewrongthinghesaidthewrongthinghesaidthewrongthinghesaidthewrong-

“Katsuki-san?” called the receptionist from across the hall, “The doctor will see you now.”

There was a disconnect between them, with the younger folding in on himself, his eyes glued to the phone, and the older apologetically trying to make eye contact. He tried until it was clear that Yuri wouldn’t even look his way, and he surrendered, standing from his chair.

“You can, um, you can wait out here if you’d like,” he said, forcing genuinity, “I’ll call for you when the doctor wants to take a look at you.”

“I don’t need to see a doctor.”

“… For your face. I didn’t get to clean it earlier.”

Yuri absentmindedly placed a finger to the bruise on his temple, and he cringed from the sudden pressure.

“Fine,” he grimaced, “For my stupid fucking face.”

Yuuri nodded to himself. Twitching his fingers nervously, he placed the bag of cookies down beside Yuri.

“The fuck are you doing?” Yuri cringed away, “I said I don’t want these!”

“You can hold onto them for me, can’t you? I’m sure I’m not allowed to bring them into the office.”

It technically wasn’t a lie.

He didn’t give Yuri the opportunity to react. He turned around on his heel and headed straight for the private office, leaving Yuri behind with his oasis in the desert, an oasis that might be as dangerous as it was alluring.

The doctor was a polite, petite woman who Yuuri had been seeing for years now. She was kind and knowledgeable, and she honestly looked like a smaller, Japanese version of JJ’s girlfriend.

Conversation between the two started as it normally did, speaking lightly about the weather, and about Yuuri’s figure skating accomplishments since he last visited. The talk was chipper and quick, and the doctor brought it to a close when she said, in a voice that sounded like honey, “So, Yuuri. You’re not due for your annual checkup for another few months or so. What’s troubling you that brought you in today?”

“My fiancé told me I should talk to you about anxiety issues,” he said without hesitation.

She nodded, contemplating. She turned her clipboard over in her hands and asked, “It’s been a long while since we’ve discussed your anxiety. After the Grand Prix, you said you were feeling better. What’s changed since the last time we spoke?”

“Nothing,” Yuuri smiled, “I feel fine.”

She hesitated, “You feel fine, you say?”

“Perfectly.”

“Why bring up your anxiety, then? Were you hoping to go back on meds?”

“No, my fiancé just wanted me to talk to you about it. He says it’s been bad.”

The doctor sat down, crossing one foot over the other, “Okay. Has it?”

“No.”

“But your fiancé says it has?”

“He just cares a lot about me.”

“I’m sure,” she said, though she sounded quite the opposite, “If all’s been well, why do you think he wanted you to discuss it? Why do you think he’s worried for you?”

“He’s worried because I’m worried about a friend of mine- of _ours,”_ he said, cringing a little at his clunky explanation, “Does that make sense?”

“You say a friend is giving you anxiety?”

“No, not at all. He’s such a sweetheart,” he stopped, biting his lip, “Don’t tell him I said that, though. He’d get upset. He’s so sweet, really, he’s just… tough. Or, at least, he’s supposed to be tough. He’s… he isn’t doing well. And, um, that- that’s what’s making me anxious.”

The doctor nodded, contemplating in that slow, decisive way she does.

“He’s here with me today,” Yuuri said, “I was hoping you could take a look at him? Are you allowed to see someone who isn’t a patient of yours?”

She tensed, her shoulders twitching. For a moment, Yuuri wondered if his idea was too stupid, or worse, too hopeful.

But then she nodded, sorting through her papers as she spoke, “I suppose… I suppose since this friend is a trigger for your anxiety, I would technically be attending to you by attending to him. Don’t you agree? By all means, send him in. Just know that as he is not my patient, I’m not allowed to make prescriptions or anything, so if you don’t mind, any comments I make will be off-record.”

Yuuri jumped to his feet.

“Oh my god, thank you! You have no idea how much I appreciate-”

She waved her hand dismissively, “Yuuri, honestly. Just go bring him in, will you?”

He didn’t need to be told twice. Yuuri stumbled over himself as he rushed back out to the waiting room. He moved so fast that he almost missed the bag of cookies, not a single one eaten, stuffed into the nearby trash can.

The Fairy didn’t even look up from his phone, “You can’t possibly tell me you want me to eat that stuff now. Unless you want me to fucking dig it out of the trash.”

Yuuri tried to stifle the pang of hurt he felt, “Don’t- Um, actually- Hey, come back to the doctor’s office with me.”

Yuri finally looked up from the screen, raising an eyebrow, “Why? Does she need me to hold you down so she can shove a needle up your ass or something?”

First, he just stood there and gaped. Then, he smiled, “Come on, you silly duck. Your face, remember? It’s just through this door, come along.”

Yuri groaned when he stood up, huffing and sighing like the grouchy teenager he was. He shoved his hands in his pockets and followed his namesake through the door, where the doctor was waiting for him patiently.

She was taken aback from the second Yuri walked in the door. She blinked, and then looked to Yuuri, as if to ask if this were real, if Yuri was real.

“May you take a look at him, please?” he reminded her, speaking in Japanese so Yuri couldn’t understand.

She blinked again, and then again.

Then she finally snapped out of it, putting her papers to the side and rising from her chair. She didn’t even waste time introducing herself or shaking hands, she promptly crossed the room to the scale against the wall.

“Would you remove your shoes and step on? I’d like to get your weight,” she said, readying the monitor.

For a moment, no one moved.

Yuuri licked his lips nervously, “Yurio?”

“What?”

“Would you?”

“Would I what?” he looked at him strangely, “Was she talking to me? I didn’t get a word of what she was saying.”

Oh. That was a problem Yuuri had forgotten to consider. The young skater didn’t speak a word of Japanese. And Japanese was the only language the doctor knew.

Yuuri tapped at his glasses uncomfortably, “She asked if she could weigh you…”

“My weight has nothing to do with the butcher marks on my face,” he said. He swiftly moved to sit down on the examination table, crossing his arms over his chest, “I don’t know how you managed to drag me here, but since you did, I expect high-quality antiseptics and tell her that she’d better not have cold hands. If she touches me with cold hands, I’m suing.”

“Um,” Yuuri gave the doctor a helpless shrug, “He doesn’t feel comfortable getting his weight taken. Could you just- you know, take a look at his face? He had a nasty fall earlier.”

“‘Nasty’ is putting it lightly,” the doctor sighed, rolling up her sleeves, “It doesn’t matter, anyway. I’ve been in the business long enough to know from looks alone.”

“Is my friend in trouble?” he asked, keeping the conversation strictly in Japanese.

“Yes, certainly.”

“What kind of trouble?”

Yuri scoffed a little, rolling his eyes as he texted someone with aggressive typing.

“To put it bluntly, everything from brittle nails to organ failure.”

The hairs on the back of Yuuri’s neck spiked up, tingling across his clammy skin.

“It can get that bad?”

The doctor sighed, opening a drawer and sorting through its contents, “In the worst cases. I shouldn’t have begun so coldly. I don’t know how bad your friend is, I don’t know what he’s like. Do you see him eat during the day?”

“Seldom…”

He watched the doctor’s fingers pick through creams and viles, her fingertips skimming across bandages and tapes, “I hate that I have to ask this. I’m sure I already know the answer. But do emotional problems arise during mealtimes? Or during times when you force him into eating?”

“I’ve never tried to force him into eating, and I never will,” Yuuri said too quickly, “B-But yeah, it- it can get pretty tough sometimes… during mealtimes.”

“I figured,” she muttered. Using materials she selected from the drawer, she began to clean the scrapes on Yuri’s face, working closely and gingerly, “What are your considerations for treatment? Knowing you, I’m sure you’re making a graphic organizer for all your planning.”

“Therapy, but not rehab. I think he’d die if he had to stop skating for a few months,” he said, and then paused, “…unless you think rehab is a good idea?”

“I hate to break it to you, but I know so little about anorexia. Your friend here is actually the first male I’ve ever seen go through this. I’m not the best person to ask.”

Yuuri’s throat tightened, “But you’re a doctor.”

“I’m a general physician. I’m a doctor for the body, not for the brain,” she said, her mouth shrugging, “From what I know, eating disorders are more like mental diseases than they are physical ones.”

Yuuri’s gut clenched. He hadn’t known that.

“I strongly recommend therapy. If your friend puts up a fight about it, find some way to convince him. Do some research,” she rubbed a cream onto the lump on Yuri’s temple, and then smiled a little meekly, “Okay, do a _lot_ of research. And try to keep in mind that progress is gradual, okay? On average, recovery from an eating disorder takes seven years. This is going to take a long time. Be patient.”

Seven years. Something slimy and heavy sunk in Yuuri’s chest.

Finally, the doctor smiled warmly at the Fairy, “Well, you’re all patched up now. The scrapes should heal quickly, but keep an eye on that bruise, okay?”

“I don’t know what you’re saying, but your hands were lukewarm, so I guess I’m not allowed to sue you,” he turned away from her, looking to Yuuri, “Can we go to the house already? I told Beka I’d FaceTime him.”

“Um.”

It took a minute for him to refocus and switch back to English.

“Sure,” he said, summoning a smile, “I’m sure Victor and Makka miss us.”

Yuuri said his goodbyes to his doctor, giving her a subtle gesture of thanks that only she could see. She just smiled back and waved them off, walking them to the door. Yuuri couldn’t help but notice the way her eyes lingered on Yuri from behind, worriedly watching his weight sway unevenly with each step.

When they made it outside, it was drizzling slightly, and they had to pull their hoods down over their faces.

“Your doctor-” Yuri began, “-she wasn’t a total asshole. I don’t think. I mean, for all I know, she could’ve been talking shit about me. But I liked her. She wasn’t like most doctors.”

Yuuri looked at him closely, “Yurio, she’s worried about you.”

Their breaths were coming out in steamy clouds through the mist, the chill of the afternoon pulling them closer together. The Fairy looked off into the clouds, gazing pensively as rain pellets flecked his scratched-up face. Not blinking, he smirked and said, “Everyone is.”

“Yurio…”

“Yeah?”

“…Nothing. Thanks for coming to the doctor with me today.”

“Anything for you, Katsudon.”

His heartbeat flickered with warmth, “Really?”

Yuri rolled his eyes, “No. Not _anything._ Like, I won’t let you win gold in our next competition. But, like, you get the general idea. Don’t make a fucking deal out of it.”

“Okay, okay,” Yuuri was uncontrollably smiling from ear to ear, “Let’s go home then. We’ll put on a movie and have a cozy night in.”

“I think I could use that,” Yuri said, stretching his skeletal arms high over his head, “My bones are tired.”

Yuuri wanted to question it. But he managed to hold his tongue. He couldn’t rush Yuri into anything. He had to be patient.

He had to be patient for seven years.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two staggering developments are brought to light in the same night:
> 
> 1\. The news is broken that they're sending Yuri to therapy
> 
> 2\. The cause of Victor's cruelness is finally made clear

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the comments last chapter <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 So sorry I didn't have the time to reply! Just know I appreciate them wholeheartedly.
> 
> Trigger warnings: Mild violence (canon-typical violence! Just Yurio being a little fiesty :p But worth the mention!), along with subtle mentions of steroids and heroin

Ever since returning home from the doctor’s visit, the house was placid. As promised, Yuri had gone off to FaceTime with Otabek, and it made Yuuri’s heart swell to hear their occasional laughter and innocent teasing through the home’s thin walls.

It made Yuuri happy, hearing the blossoming of young love in his own household. It made him reminisce on his early days with Victor, back when Victor was still this distant, alien, godlike creature, Yuuri was still a nervous clutz, and they were both still figuring it out as they went along… Well, in retrospect, not that much has changed since then. While romance kindled practically the moment they met, it took a long while to harness it, to understand it, and, of course, to appreciate it.

That was another thing Yuuri came home to see: a romantic gesture.

After greeting Makkachin at the door, sending the Fairy off to the guest bedroom, and moving to hand his coat on the rack, Yuuri passed through the kitchen doorway and saw a bouquet of flowers and a hot meal waiting for him on the table.

The flowers were long and white, orchids perhaps, and finely tied in an elegant purple ribbon. They weren’t necessarily feminine, but they were majestic and touching all the same.

The lunch was tonkatsu with sauteed udon; whenever they stay in Japan, Victor does his best to cook the food of the people, instead of traditional Russian cuisine, and Yuuri appreciated it more than words could say, especially because he does a damn good job at it too.

Yuuri had actually missed the coat rack, and dropped his coat. He was so surprised by the banquet in front of him that he almost didn’t notice Victor fast asleep on the couch with one arm over his face.

Looking at his fiancé, Yuuri felt his chest swell with pride and affection. He crossed to the couch, moving lightly on the balls of his feet, and kissed Victor on the forehead.

His blue eyes fluttered open. He was still dazed with sleep, but he was smiling, “Good morning, dear.”

“Afternoon, actually,” Yuuri kissed him again, “Thank you for making lunch. And the flowers. My god, they’re so nice. What did I do to deserve flowers and a hot meal?”

“You exist. That’s enough for me,” Victor grinned. He sat up slowly, one vertebrae at a time, yawning on the way up.

“You’re really tired, huh?” Yuuri noticed. He felt something sinking in the side of his stomach.

Victor shrugged, kicking his feet over the side of the couch and heading back to the meal on the table.

“You’ve been napping a lot lately.”

“I’ve been tired, I suppose. I don’t know.”

It wasn’t like Victor to not know. He was far too much of a linear thinker for that kind of indirectness.

“Come, dear,” he smiled, beckoning with his hand, “Let us eat! I’m sure you’re hungry.”

As if on cue, Yuuri heard his stomach rumble. He didn’t need to be told twice.

He and Victor sat at the table, Makkachin directly under it, diligently waiting for droppings of scraps. They said their graces and began their meal, having to blow some of the heat away with each savoury bite.

“So, unsurprisingly-” Victor said in between bites, “Yakov was keen on the idea of going back to St. Petersburg. I don’t think he likes Japan very much. The poor, grumpy old man! I talked it over with him, and he agreed rather quickly. He’s ready to move out as soon as later this week.”

“Really?” A gasp escaped him, “That’s so great, Victor. Thank you for talking to him, really. I appreciate it so much.”

“Please, it was my pleasure, love,” he set down a glass of water, “So. What did Miss Doctor have to say?”

“We are not considering anxiety medication at this time,” Yuuri said, selecting his words carefully, “She looked at… the source of my recent anxiousness, I suppose, and medication for me isn’t really something we’re considering right now.”

“Thanks for telling me that, but I was mostly asking about Yurio.”

Yuuri’s heart skipped a beat. Victor was finally caring. The way he should.

Yuuri set down his chopsticks and said, “I don’t really know how to say this without it sounding at least a little insensitive, but I’ll try my best. My doctor agrees that Yurio isn’t… in the best shape. She recommended therapy, and said that I was on the right track, but that I needed to do more research and be patient.”

“Okay,” Victor nodded curtly, methodically, “So you’ve already found a therapist in St. Petersburg, right? That’s one mark off the checklist. I guess what we need to do now is find Yurio’s grandfather and have him sign whatever papers are needed so Yurio can start having sessions.”

“And do you think he will?”

Victor raised an eyebrow.

“Permit Yurio to have counseling, I mean,” Yuuri explained, “I’ve only met Yurio’s grandfather once or twice. I don’t know much about him.”

“He’s a good guy. A little abrasive, though. I guess it runs in the family,” he chucked, “Believe me. The hard part won’t be convincing the grandfather. The hard part will be convincing Yurio.”

“That’s right. I had forgotten… oh God, the poor kid…”

For some reason, he had let himself forget about how much Yuri was opposed to the idea of outside help. His mind had been too preoccupied with St. Petersburg, research, and anxiety that he momentarily distracted himself from one of the primary issues at hand. He felt his stomach churn, the food from his lunch grinding uneasily against the walls of his abdomen.

“I’ll do it.”

The grinding stopped.

“What, Victor?”

Victor had that special steadfast look on his face, a determined glint in his eye.   
“Well, you told me that you two are trying to become good friends, right? I don’t want to tamper with how far you two have come.”

There was a buzzing in Yuuri’s ears, “Victor, I don’t underst-”

“-All I’m saying is that we’ll tag-team it. Good cop, bad cop style. He likes you. So you’re the good guy. That leaves me as the bad guy. I should be the one to break the news to him. If he gets upset, he’ll only take out his anger on me. I’m fine with that. He’ll still have you to trust.”

“Victor…” Yuuri was dumbfounded, “You’d let him hate you?”

The coach sadly smiled, “I think he already does. That’s okay. As long as he has you as a friend, I know he’s going to be okay. You have more love to give than I ever could.”

Yuuri didn’t realize it at first. He didn’t even realize it until much later that night, past midnight, when he was supine across the living room sofa, staring at the ceiling, contemplating where he went wrong. It was then, when he was sleep-deprived, exhausted, and belligerently anxious, that it finally occurred to him Victor’s last sentence was a double-edged sword.

But he didn’t realize it right now.

Right now, he was endeared beyond words.

“I love you,” Yuuri said without thinking.

Victor smiled, a sadness lingering in the hues of his eyes, “I love you, too. More than you know.”

Makkachin bumped into Yuuri’s knee under the table when something  _ banged _ in the near distance. He jumped in his seat, looking over his shoulder, surprised to see Yuri stomping out of the guest room, almost running.

“Katsudon!” he exclaimed, an excited sparkle in his grin, “Guess what! Otabek finally had the balls to ask me out! He’s such a stupid, adorable nerd, he-”

Yuri stopped in his tracks, like a car slamming on the brakes.

“-Why do you guys look so serious?” he demanded, “Whatever happened, it wasn’t me. It was Victor.”

The coach didn’t take the heat. It bounced right off of him, “Would you like to join us for lunch, Yurio? I cooked enough for three.”

“I already ate,” Yuri said without hesitating.

Yuuri didn’t say out loud that he and Victor had been at the table from the moment they got home, and that they both knew with absolute certainty that Yuri hadn’t passed through the kitchen for something to eat.

Victor stood, “Yura, let’s go into your room. We need to discuss something.”

Yuri went still, his shoulders tensing.

Victor said something in Russian. His tone was soft, but it carried an edge.

Yuuri couldn’t be sure, but he thought he heard his name somewhere in there.

A brief silence ensued, and then Victor and Yuri turned around, making for the guest bedroom like a butcher and his lamb to the slaughter. Victor looked over his shoulder one last time, giving one of those over-exaggerated false smiles, before closing and locking the door behind them.

Yuuri was left at the kitchen table, a meal cooked with love at his fingertips, and a sweet, old dog at his feet.

This… this was good.

Victor was taking action. He was making the right move. This was a good thing.

Then why did it feel so  _ wrong? _

Yuuri could feel his heart thumping in his chest, and its uneven rhythm started to make him nauseous. He tried taking a sip of water to settle his nerves, but he almost choked on it.

Makkachin whined at him from under the table, and Yuuri stooped down to pet his fluffy ears, finding a little relief in the touch, but not enough.

It didn’t take long for discussion in the guest bedroom to penetrate the rest of the house. It started off softly, but escalated to the point where it became loud enough it made Makkachin wince. Yuuri couldn’t understand a word of the screaming, but all the guttural diphthongs and punctuated consonants were enough to make his blood curdle.

When he heard aggressive, low pounding sounds, he knew objects were being thrown.

He jumped to his feet, but he didn’t make it fast enough. By the time he made it to the guest bedroom’s door, it already swung open and Victor stumbled out, caressing his face in one hand.

Yuri had the last line, seething something incoherent, before  _ slamming _ the door so roughly that the whole house shook.

Yuuri flinched, “Victor?”

He made a noncommittal “hm?” beneath his hand. 

“Vic, are you hurt?” Yuuri whispered, pulling in close, “Did he throw something at you?”

“He threw some things, but nothing hit me. He used to have a good arm. Now he can’t throw for anything,” Victor muttered, laughing weakly.

“Did you hurt him?”

“Not physically. Only emotionally,” he took his hand away from his face, “I’m just glad it was me in there and not you.”

“Oh my god, Victor!”

“What?”

“Your face!”

“What? What happened to my face?”

“Vic, are you  _ kidding me?” _

There was a bruise the size of a fist swelling egregiously on his cheekbone. It was even worse than the bruise on Yuri’s face; this one was multicolored and superfluous, and it was so blatantly grotesque Yuuri wanted to cringe.

Victor, though, just had an innocent look of confusion on his face, “What?”

“You said he didn’t throw anything at you!”

“He didn’t.”

“You have a bruise on your face!”

“I do?” Victor touched his cheekbone, and then flinched, “Oh. I do.”

“Victor!” Yuuri groaned.

“He didn’t throw anything at me, but he did punch me. I didn’t think he got me that badly,” Victor explained casually, “It actually didn’t hurt at all.”

“Victor…” Yuuri whined. By now, it was just about the only word he could say.

“No, I’m serious. It didn’t hurt. It felt like a little flick. He’s, like, really…  _ weak, _ I guess. Yuuri, could that be because of his eating disorder?”

Yuuri was at a loss for words.

He could have thanked Victor for finally taking Yuri’s condition seriously, for taking the heat in his place. Or he could have chastised Victor for yelling at a child, proving he was no better at dealing with this than Yakov.

But instead, he asked:

“If he didn’t hurt you, why did you bruise so easily?”

Victor paled. He smiled with uncertainty, “I’m not sure what you mean, love.”

“You shouldn’t develop a bruise like that from a flick,” Yuuri strained to keep his voice from wavering, “Are you ill?”

“No,” Victor kept on smiling uncomfortably, as if under the delusion his performance was actually convincing.

“ … I found a syringe and set of needles in the bathroom this morning.”

Tears gathered in the corners of Victor’s eyes, but he didn’t cry. He pursed his lips and lowered his head, nodding to himself, “I guess you were bound to find them eventually. You’re so smart.”

“What is it?”

Victor flexed and unflexed his fingers, his tear-lined gaze penetrating the floorboards.

“What is it, Victor? Heroin?”

“No, not heroin.”

“What is it?”

“ … methandienone.”

Yuuri swallowed a lump in his throat, “Isn’t that a steroid pill?”

“I didn’t get it from a doctor, so I had to get it in a different form. The syringe was all I could access.”

“But it  _ is _ a steroid.”

“ … yes.”

“Victor. Why are you taking steroids?” Yuuri pleaded, “And worse, why are you taking steroids when your doctor didn’t prescribe them?”

“Yuuri, honey,” Victor sighed, squeezing his eyes shut in strain, “Don’t do this.”

The skater didn’t register his words. He stepped in closer to his fiancé and held his hand, “No, this is a serious thing! How long have you been taking them?”

“-Yuuri, don’t-”

“-Who are you getting them from? A drug dealer?”

“-I’m not the person whose health needs to be scrutinized right now!” Victor cried out, retracting his hand from Yuuri’s grip, “You’ve been telling me for weeks that we need to focus on Yurio, we need to focus on Yurio, we need to focus on Yurio, and now that I finally am, you’re making it all about me! That isn’t right!”

“Victor, I’m capable of taking care of  _ both _ of you!”

The coach opened his mouth to reply, but no sound came out. He clenched his jaw shut, lowered his head, and ever so dismally folded in on himself, the silence of the room engulfing and choking them.

Looking at his lover, Yuuri noticed something that sent off alarm bells in his head. Victor was slouching. This was the first time in the years of knowing him that Yuuri saw Victor without a straight back, without the grace of an angel on ice, without confidence or certainty. Victor was obviously taller, but he looked so small right now. He looked so… defeated.

But Yuuri didn’t feel victorious. He felt just as dejected.

He tried urging Victor into speaking in a softer, gentler way than before.

“Victor, is that why you’ve been so tired lately?” he asked, keeping his voice barely above a whisper, “Granted, I don’t know the side effects of abusing steroids. But do you think that could be why you’re so sleepy all the time?”

Victor shrugged with one shoulder, running a hand through his silver hair.

“On our last date that you cancelled, you said you were feeling ill,” Yurri pressed on, treading carefully, “Do you think you were under the weather because of-”

“-I don’t know, Yuuri,” Victor interrupted.

“Okay. Okay… One more question, though. Think you can handle that? Just one more question, Vic?”

Victor nodded slowly, mechanically.

“Do you… Do you think the methandienone is why you’ve been so mean to me lately?”

Victor blinked. Once. Twice. Three times.

Then he finally met Yuuri’s gaze and asked, “Pardon me? Mean to you?”

Yuuri took a shaky breath, “Lately, you’ve been terse. You’ve been curt and irate. Very irritable. Judgemental. Not very understanding. You’ve been hurting my feelings a lot, and Yurio’s feelings too, and I just- I never knew how to talk to you about it.”

Whatever scarce amount of blood that was still in Victor’s face drained in a mere instant. He was ghastly white, so much so that his lips were ashen. He looked like he wanted to puke, his throat convulsing in bobbing pulses.

“Yuuri,” his voice cracked like a teenager’s, “You- I’ve really-”

“-Oh God, Victor, please don’t-”

“-Why didn’t you tell me? I didn’t-” Victor grabbed his hair with both fists, tugging at his locks anxiously, “I’m sorry, Yurri, I… don’t even know what to tell you that would make a worthwhile apology. I didn’t know. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry…”

“Victor… it’s okay.”

“No. No, I’ve been such an ass. You don’t need to-”

“-No, it’s okay. I forgive you. I know you wouldn’t ever hurt me on purpose.”

Victor was fighting to blink back tears, “I’m so sorry.”

“And it’s  _ okay, _ Victor,” Yuuri grabbed both of his shoulders, “I can tell this is stressing you out. You don’t need to explain everything right now. We’ll get through this together, okay? I’ll help you. What can I do for you? What do you need?”

“… a hug?”

Yuuri’s heart broke a million times over, “Oh God, Victor, of  _ course _ you can get a hug! Victor!” he broke into nervous laughter, “What the hell? Yes! Yes, you can get a hug!”

They embraced each other, their sternums crashing together. Yuuri wrapped his arms around Victor’s chest with all the tightness he could muster. He squeezed and squeezed him, yearning to draw out every last drop of warmth.

He couldn’t be sure, but he thought he felt Victor crying against him. And all he could do was hug him tighter.

* * *

A few hours later, Yuuri found himself on the couch with Victor pressed up against his side. The former figure skater had cried himself to sleep, essentially, snivelling and self-loathing until his eyes couldn’t stay open any longer. Yuuri had done nothing but hold his hand and whisper sweet nothings to him as he dozed off, unsure of how else he could help. He felt so clueless; he felt like he wasn’t helping at all. But Victor didn’t seem to notice his uncertainty. He drifted off to sleep with his tears drying on his bruised face, his bangs drooping over his forehead.

Yuuri wanted to cuddle up to him and fall asleep, too. But for the second night in a row, sleep couldn’t reach him. It was past midnight, and he was wide awake. Even at this late hour, he was alert enough that he could hear the subtle  _ creak  _ of the guest room’s door opening, and the soft tiptoe noises that followed.

“Yurio?”

The teenager stopped in his tracks.

It wasn’t like the first time when Yuuri had caught him sneaking around at night, when he had frozen like a deer in the headlights and had a borderline panic attack. This time, he just blinked slowly, squinting at Yuuri through the dark.

“Is he asleep?” he asked, indicating Victor.

Yuuri nodded, “He’s had a tough day.”

“I shouldn’t’ve punched him, huh?”

Yuuri gave a weak smile, “He can take it, I guess. Besides, now the two of you are matching.”

Yuri placed a hand to his own bruise and smirked.

Yuuri patted the spot beside him, “Forgive me for not addressing this when you made the news, but you said Otabek asked you out?”

The Fairy crawled onto the couch, flanking Yuuri’s other side.

“Yeah,” he mumbled, “We’re dating now.”

“I’m happy for you. I hope he treats you well.”

“He will.”

“You don’t sound too excited. Are you okay?”

“‘m stupid excited. ‘m just really tired,” Yuri yawned, his entire body caving inwards, “I don’t know why. I barely did anything today.”

“It’s because you don’t… fuel your body.”

Yuri shook his head slowly, his stare dead and cold, “I eat enough.”

“Yurio, if you really believe that, and you’re not just pulling my leg, I mean if you  _ truly _ believe that… Then, I think you should really consider therapy.”

“No. I can’t. It’s- I don’t want to- It’s just stupid. It’s so stupid.”

“It isn’t stupid. I took therapy back when my anxiety was really bad, you know.”

“Really?” Yuri croaked, disbelief evident in his otherwise monotonous tone.

“Really. I liked it. Sure, it was a little awkward at first, getting used to talking to someone about what’s going on inside my head. But I ended up really liking it. I learned a lot of life skills from the experience,” Yuuri was absentmindedly stroking Victor’s back as he spoke, finding comfort in the ridges of his spine beneath his shirt, “And I always felt better afterwards. I had so many good days to replace all my bad ones.”

“… Do you think I need it?”

“I think… it would benefit you. In ways more than one.”

“Do you think I’m a nutcase?”

“No. I think… I think you’re just sick. And lost. I think you’re lost,” his throat bobbed up and down, making his voice waver and jump, “A-And I want to help you find your way, because I care about you, Yurio, we all care about you. I just- I don’t know how to guide you.”

Yuri nodded so subtly that it almost went unseen. His green eyes closed when he mumbled out in a mouselike voice, “Victor told me you found someone I can talk to back in St. Petersburg.”

“Yeah, I did,” Yuuri went on stroking his fiancé’s backside, “I hope you don’t mind my research. I’m not trying to take over your life or anything, I just figured that a doctor closer to your home would-”

“-Okay.”

“… okay?”

“Okay,” Yuri muttered.

He huddled in closer, practically cuddling Yuuri on the couch, his skeletal frame uncomfortably digging into Yuuri’s skin. But he couldn’t even be offended by the discomfort because he was far too elated by this piece of news. Yuri was consenting to the concept of counseling.

He agreed. Yuuri was doing the right thing.

There was a shift on the couch, and Victor lifted his head.

“Yura?” he whispered, still dreary with sleep.

“He’s right here,” Yuuri stroked his backside, “He’s sorry for punching you earlier. He didn’t mea-”

His eyes half-closed with the remnants of sleep, Victor reached past his fiancé and took Yuri’s face in those long, strong fingers of his. He pulled Yuri closer by his chin, and ever so delicately kissed the bridge of his nose.

“I’m sorry, Yura,” he whispered.

After the words left his mouth, he fell victim to his tiredness once more, falling back against Yuuri and succumbing to sleep.

The Russian Fairy stared confusedly, a similar exhaustion restraining him from throwing a rage.

“I think that was meant for you,” he said, squinting.

“No,” Yuuri smiled, “It was for you. He apologized today. Sincerely. He never meant to hurt you or me.”

“What’s his problem, then?” Yuri asked, “Why’s he so tired? He didn’t do anything today either. But he eats well.”

“He does eat well,” Yuuri hesitated, “But he- He’s been tired and inconsiderate because… he’s doing really unhealthy things to his body. It’s concerning.”

“Like me?”

Yuuri didn’t know how to answer.

“Is he okay?”

Yuuri didn’t know how to answer that, either. Just like with eating disorders, Yuuri was uneducated on steroids. He knew they affected mens’ hormones, which explained Victor’s violent mood swings. He had to assume they affected energy levels and skin endurance, too, but he didn’t know for sure.

He had to do even more research, he supposed.

“He will be,” he decided on saying, “And you will be, too.”

Yuri made a small noise, snuggling in nearer. He tucked his face into the crook between Yuuri’s neck and shoulder and hoarsely muttered, “I will be, as long as you will be.”

“… Yurio.”

“…”

“Yurio, I’m  _ fine. _ I’m the healthiest one here. I-”

He realized—with a sentimental ache in his heart— that Yuri had fallen asleep against him, his breath hitting the skin of Yuuri’s neck in shallow, rhythmic beats.

Yuuri sat there on the couch, sandwiched between the two most important people in his life, his fiancé on one side, his best friend on the other, both of them escaping reality to seek security in the more pleasant world of sleep and dreams, a place undaunted by foods, and steroids, and therapists, and other evils. They left Yuuri behind, though, they left him wide awake, sitting there wondering what the hell he was going to do to save both of them.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It all starts when Victor notices that Yuri's running shoes were left behind...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter: references to family issues, references to anxiety, references to paranoia/inner voices, and graphic description of a major health scare

“Why does Yurio live with his grandfather? What happened to his parents?”

Victor blinked a few times, still dreary with sleep. It took him a long time to rejuvenate these days, and he wasn’t equipped to tolerate such a random question so early in the morning. He put his cooking spatula down, letting the breakfast eggs and vegetables sit and sizzle on the stove.

“Forgive my hesitancy, love,” he said, stroking his chin, “But, why are you asking? If you don’t mind?”

Yuuri placed a pencil between the pages, marking his place, and folded his book closed so he could look at Victor.

“I was doing some reading,” he explained, “A lot of these books keep saying that eating disorders can stem from trauma, and- Okay, now I feel insensitive. I guess I was just wondering if … Well, you know.”

Victor nodded, contemplating, “Do they all come from trauma?”

Yuuri accidentally smiled. The subject matter didn’t make him happy, of course not. This was a serious topic, and he treated it as such. He just couldn’t help but feel endeared by Victor asking a question. Victor wanted to know more, he wanted to help.

He opened the book again, skimming over his notes, “No. There are many possible causes, actually. But when I kept seeing the word ‘trauma’ pop up again and again, from book to book, I thought of Yurio’s grandfather for some reason. I’ve never met Yurio’s parents, and- well, I know it’s wrong, but I just couldn't help but wonder.”

“I get it. I don’t blame you for wondering,” Victor nodded understandingly, “It’s not like Yurio talks about it.”

“Do…” Yurio pretended to be only half-interested, running his pencil along the pages in his book, “Do you know? What happened to his- I mean,  _ if  _ anything happened?”

“I don’t know if anything ‘happened,’” Victor began with a light sigh, stirring the vegetables in the wok with partial concentration, “I only know what Yakov told me. I don’t know anything about Yurio’s dad. Or if he even has one. His mom isn’t in his life either. If I remember correctly, she was some kind of idol back in Russia, but isn’t anymore. I don’t know if she died or-”

He stopped, wincing.

“Sorry. I guess that was insensitive, too. I’m sorry, I shouldn't talk like that.”

“No, Victor, it’s okay,” Yuuri said. He was battling the same issue. He wanted to know more, but it felt wrong to pursue more. It was like peoples’ fascination with True Crime: it was grotesque, dismal, and probably unhealthy, but people couldn’t help but sit at chair edges and crave more details.

Victor turned his shoulder, pretending to divert his attention to cooking, “So, why are you reading about trauma, exactly? Should I be worried about you?”

“I’m reading about eating disorders,” he made an embarrassed gesture to the stacks—yes, three entire  _ stacks _ — of books he had plundered just yesterday. He had stormed into the local bookstore in a haste and collected every single one they had on the subject, as well as a decent handful of books on steroids. The poor old bookkeeper had gently touched his hand, kissed his cheek, and said, “It’s okay, dearie. It’s going to get easier.”

Yuuri normally didn’t buy things en masse unless he was with Victor, but he figured a book haul was his best option, especially since they were leaving for St. Petersburg soon and he would no longer have access to books in the language he was most comfortable reading. There was an advantage to buying books in Japanese, too: Yuri couldn’t get upset about his research. If he walked in and saw Yuuri reading, he would have no idea what he was reading  _ about, _ and therefore couldn’t throw a fit about it.

“Oh, is  _ that _ what you’re reading about?” Victor chuckled, leaving the food frying in the walk and coming over to rest beside Yuuri’s chair, “I thought you were reading a horror novel or something.”

“Why did you think I was reading a horror novel?” Yuuri moved to make room for him at the table, “You know I hate scary things.”

“The looks on your face, love. You looked so frightened. Your knuckles are all white,” Victor said with a tone of both pity and endearment. He took Yuuri’s frightened hands in his and began to kiss the knuckles one by one.

“I looked scared?” Yuuri laughed, enjoying Victor’s affections, “I guess I can’t help it. Some of the stuff in here is just… not pretty.”

Victor’s kissing slowed. He raised his head, “How so?”

“There- There are so many things,” Yuuri frowned. He pushed his book to the side and took out another one, one that he had meticulously studied a few hours ago, “See here. This book said that sometimes, people with EDs can hear voices.”

“Voices?” Victor repeated, taking the book for himself.

“In their heads. Voices different from their own. Sometimes it can go as far as the victim developing an entire internalized persona for the voice. Telling them when to eat, when not to eat, when to puke, or do other- other- other really bad, bad, unhealthy things,” he rubbed at his throat with the back of his hand, “S-Sorry I’m getting so riled up. It’s just- The idea of that is so- so  _ scary. _ Like, imagine a literal  _ voice  _ in your head, like a phantom, that dictates how you manage your health.”

“Is that what your anxiety’s like?”

Yuuri was about to immediately fire out a “no,” but then stopped, reconsidering.

“I… heard a voice once,” Yuuri confessed.

He noticed Victor shift in his seat, bracing for more.

“Just once,” Yuuri assured, his heart speeding up in his chest, “It was- I think it’s been a few years by now. I don’t remember which figure skating competition it was, it’s been so long. I was all by myself in the bathroom. I was really upset because it was some kind of preliminary competition, if I remember correctly, and I had done so poorly. I fell down more than once, it- it was just a big mess. And I was frustrated. I was disappointed. I was just so overwhelmed and stressed, a-and I wa- I was looking at myself in the mirror, trying to wash my face in the sink, and I heard it. It-”

He took a shaky breath.

“-I don’t know what it was or where it came from, but it was there that night. It said-”

He could feel tears welling in his eyes, and he took off his glasses to wipe at them.

“-I-It just said some awful things, okay? And it freaked me out,” he took a large, validating breath, having wiped the tears away, “And I went out and got a therapist that night, I went on medication for a while, and it never happened again.”

Victor was silent for a moment. He was as still as an ice sculpture, and as picturesque and dignified as one, too. Then he scooped the glasses off the table and placed them on Yuuri’s face, delicately pushing the rim to the bridge of his nose with only a finger.

“You impress me more and more every day,” he said with the voice of an angel, “Thank you for telling me. And thank you for telling a therapist, too, especially that same night. Goodness gracious. Based on Yurio’s reaction, I’m sure that wasn’t an easy thing to do.”

“It wasn’t,” Yuuri smiled.

“How come you never told me that story before?”

“I don’t like to tell it,” Yuuri chuckled nervously, “But you can see how scary it is.”

Then a thought lurked in the back of Yuuri’s mind.

“Victor, is-” he licked his lips, “-is it like that when you- um. When you feel inclined to take your steroi-”

“-No. I only hear my own voice.”

“Oh. That’s- um. That’s kind of-”

There was a sudden flare from the stove, and the next second, Victor was running over, racing to settle down the steam.

“Woah there!” he laughed, moving the wok to a different surface, “Breakfast is testy today!”

“Uh oh,” Yuuri put the books aside, “It isn’t burnt, is it?”

“No, no, just emotional,” Victor laughed gleefully.

“Are you cooking enough for three?”

“ … Do you think I should?”

“ … I don’t know.”

All of a sudden, Yuuri felt the tears welling up again. This time, they came so quickly he couldn’t suppress them, and he found himself crying in only a matter of seconds. He wiped at his face with the backs of his hands, panicking, struggling to maintain control.

“Oh God, Victor, how did we let it get this bad? How could we let this happen and not notice a thing? He shouldn’t be going through any of this!” he cried, snivelling.

Victor watched from a distance. He stirred the eggs and vegetables until they stopped smoking, and then returned to his chair besides his fiancé. Wrapping one arm around Yuuri’s shoulders, he took out his phone and held it between them, “Let’s take a look at some pictures. We’ll look for where it started. Okay?”

“Mhm!” Yuuri snivelled, snot running down his face like a little kid.

Victor just kissed his forehead, thumbing through a timeline of pictures, a gallery of memories, all saved in his private collection. He stopped on a photo Yuuri had never seen before, one that showed a very grumpy Yurio bundled up in winter attire, a toppled-over snowman on the ground beside him.

“He’s really young in this one. Probably ten or eleven,” Victor smiled fondly, “I guess he’s always been a tiny kid. He’s always been grouchy, too, I guess.”

“He has,” Yuuri said, working to wipe the last of his tears away, “But still a healthy weight.”

“For sure,” Victor scrolled a few more years down the timeline, “Here he looks… fourteen? He had short hair here. It doesn’t suit him. At least not this particular hairstyle.”

“He’s thin.”

“He’s short, too. Poor kid. I mean, he's pretty short now, but still.”

“I read that EDs that happen during adolescence often end up stunting people’s growth.”

Victor sighed sadly, “I guess that makes sense. But he had a good relationship with food here. I remember him eating well when he was… how old was he? Fifteen? Because we were visiting your parents’ house and your mom cooked all that amazing-”

“-Do you have a picture from then?”

“Plenty. I know I took a lot while I was there. Your home was just so beautiful,” Victor scrolled some more, finding a chaotic but heartwarming photograph of the three of them seated around Yuuri’s childhood dinner table, pork cutlets at their fingertips, each of them with an equal degree of ravenousness in their eyes.

Victor smiled fondly, his arm around Yuuri’s shoulder warm and comforting, “He was too prideful to say it, but he was really happy back then. Meeting your parents, staying in your house, hanging out with you for the first time. All of it made him really happy.”

“Really?” Yuuri got excited, “How do you know?”

He shrugged, “I could just tell. I caught glimpses of him excitedly texting his grandpa about his stay each night. It was so cute.”

Yuuri smiled, the image in his head drying the last of his tears, “What’s the next picture?”

“It’s the podium at the Grand Prix. So shiny. You look really good, by the way. Almost as good as you look right now.”

Yuuri didn’t notice the compliment. He zoomed in on the screen, “Does he look thin here to you? I’m not certain.”

Victor frowned, leaning in closer, “A little. I think he’s a little skinnier here than in the picture at your family’s house. But that makes sense. It was competition season. All the athletes are skimpier that time of year.”

“Go on,” Yuuri urged.

Victor looked at him worriedly, before swiping to the next photo.

“He’s thinner.”

Victor squinted at the screen, “He looks the same.”

“Trust me. I see it. Go on.”

Victor bit his lip, “Yuuri…”

“Go on.”

He reluctantly swiped again.

“He’s absolutely thinner,” Yuuri decided without a doubt in the world, “It started around the time he won the Grand Prix. That’s like- When was that? A year ago? A year ago. Oh god, poor Yurio, an entire year…”

“The Grand Prix? But he won,” Victor made a face, “Everything was right in the world for him back then. What could have possibly given him trauma?”

“Well, like I said, it doesn’t necessarily start from trauma. Anything can start it. A lot of the books say that eating disorders can start from a single, memorable event. We just don’t know… but  _ he _ might know. I think- I think this was good, though. I’m sure his new therapist will want to know wh-”

He noticed that Victor wasn’t paying attention. He sat with his arm propped up on the table, his face leaning into his hand.

“Victor, don’t tell me something this serious is boring you.”

“Yuuri,” he began, his other arm going tighter around Yuuri’s shoulders, “If there ever comes a time where you have to choose who to save between me and Yurio, choose Yurio.”

“Why on earth would I have to-”

“-Yuuri, listen to me,” he said, his voice somehow gentle and firm at the same time, “I know you love us the same. But if a choice ever needed to be made, make it. Choose him. He needs it more. I’d be okay.”

“Vic, please don’t-”

“-Promise me you will. You’ll help him first.”

“ … No,” Yuuri fiddled with his glasses, “I’m sorry, but- no. Just- Just- no. I’m not making that kind of promise.”

Victor nodded to himself. He got out of his chair and went to the wok in the kitchen, starting to portion out their breakfast into bowls.

“So our plan, if I remember correctly-” he spoke wistfully as he worked, “Is that we meet Yakov in the airport, we fly to St. Petersburg by this afternoon, we meet Yurio’s grandfather, we get him to sign the papers, and we live happily ever after. Anything I missed for today’s agenda?”

Yuuri blinked, dazed by yet another one of Victor’s mood swings, “Y-Yeah. Um. We need to be sure to carry Makka over on the plane.”

“Of course, how could I forget our sweet boy?” he smiled, “Speaking of sweet boys, want to hear something cute?”

“S-Sure. Um. Yeah, I could use a mood-booster, actually.”

Victor smiled from ear to ear, “So I don’t know if you’ve read your emails lately, but Yurio’s grandfather invited all of us over for dinner our first night in St. Petersburg. You, me, Yakov, Yurio. The gang. He’s inviting Otabek, too.”

“Oh, how nice! How sweet of him, I wasn’t expecting that! That’s going to be really great, since it’ll make it easy for us to bring up Yurio’s anorex-”

“-No, honey, you’re missing the big picture. Yurio’s grandfather hasn’t told him Otabek’s coming. It’s going to be a surprise.”

Yuuri placed a hand over his heart, “Aww, really? That’s so sweet.”

“Got to love young love,” Victor chuckled, “So, when would you like to leave for the airport, honey?”

“I’m all packed up except for these books, but that will only take a minute. I guess we can head out as soon as Yurio’s back from his run.”

“Okay, good! … Hey, when Yurio runs, does he run barefoot?”

The randomness of the question caught him completely off-guard.

“No? Why would you ask that?”

“I just realized his running shoes are still here.”

Yuuri felt his confused smile drop, his eyes going wide.

“So he’s-”

Victor was already moving to the guest bedroom, wiping the kitchen grease from his hands as he sped over. Yuuri jumped up after him, almost slipping along the hardwood.

Victor knocked on the door, “Little tiger?” he called, “Are you awake? We have to leave for St. Petersburg soon!”

Yuuri dreadfully anticipated silence, but was relieved to hear the familiar rustle of bedsheets tossing aside. A few thumps ensued, and then the door drew back.

Yuri looked dead on his feet. He looked like a husk, like a phantom. Especially in the way his eyes, which were normally so full of vitality and spunk, stared right past them, seeing but not registering, he looked subhuman.

Victor spoke first, “H-Hey there, sleepyhead. No morning run today?”

Yuri muttered something in Russian. He made a move to stalk past, and Yuuri and Victor immediately cleared a path for him, parting like the red sea, fearing that a mere ounce of physical contact could harm him. Yuri stumbled past unevenly, his partial weight planted on one foot and nonexistent on the other. He started to stagger a little as he moved down the hall, straining his eyes to see ahead of him.

It didn’t take long for Yuuri to piece together that he was moving towards his running shoes.

“Yurio, honey,” he bustled forward, reaching for the athleticwear, “Let’s save the exercise for another day, okay?”

Yuri looked at him strangely. He was squinting like it strained him, and his focus seemed to ebb in and out without a pattern.

“Yurio?” Yuuri stepped in closer, “Hey, are you okay? Come sit down, we can-”

Two beautiful green eyes, eyes that once shined with the glimmer of victory, the sparkle of confidence, rolled back into Yuri’s scalp as he collapsed.

“Yurio!”

Makkachin, who had been napping peacefully until now, began barking abrasively at the  _ thump _ Yuri’s head made when it hit the hardwood.

Victor and Yuuri bolted forward on instinct. Victor was quicker, and with his enhanced muscles scooped the convalescent off the floor with ease. He carried him to the couch and laid him down tenuously, carefully, making sure every little bit of his skin made contact with the couch before letting go.

He turned to Yuuri, “What do we do?”

“U-Um-”

It was one thing to read a dozen books on how to deal with eating disorders. Combating them hand to hand, in real life outside of printed paragraphs and scribbled margins, was an entirely different thing.

“Yuuri, what do we do?”

Yuri gave a stuttery gasp in his unconscious state, and both Victor and Yuuri snapped to attention.

“U-Unconsciousness should only last momentarily,” he said, suddenly remembering his studies, “We should wait for him to get back up again, then try to build his strength. It- It’s no different than when an athlete faints in the skating rink sometimes.”

As if on cue, Yuri’s eyelids twitched back and forth, and then fluttered open and released those same staring, unseeing eyes.

“Hey there, Yurio!” Victor whispered, falsely grinning. For once, his quasi-tasteless intimacy didn’t come off as eccentricism, it actually read similar to bedside manners. He was bending down to Yuri’s eye level, addressing him with more compassion than he ever has before, “Hey, there. How’re you feeling, sweet thing?”

Yuri’s throat lurched like he was going to puke, but he remained plastered against the couch.

“Yurio?”

“Vertigo,” he muttered, closing his eyes again.

“Oh, honey,” Yuuri placed a hand over his heart, “I’m so sorry.”

Victor rose from his squatting position and went straight to the kitchen, leaving the Yuris behind. From where Yuuri was in the living room, hunched over his sickly friend, he could hear the clattering and clinking of glasses moving, the splashing of water, and the bubbling of something brewing. He looked at the clammy forehead of his friend, brushing back a few of his bangs, and strained to remember everything his books taught him.

“Yurio,” he whispered softly, “Can- May I ask you a few questions?”

Yuri didn’t even open his eyes. He just gave a weak “mmn” sound.

“This isn’t a quiz or anything,” Yuuri clarified, “I just- I need to make sure you’re still aware of everything, okay? It’s okay, you don’t need to stress over it. They’re easy-peasy, okay? Do you remember where you are?”

“Your house…”

“In what city?”

Yuri’s eyebrows drew together in concentration.

“Um,” Yuuri licked his lips nervously, “Maybe- I mean, maybe you just don’t know. Um. Do- Can you at least name the country?”

“Japan.”

“Okay… better… Now, without looking, do you remember what color Makkachin is?”

“Brown.”

An exhale of relief left Yuuri’s body, his lungs collapsing graciously in his humbled chest.

“Yes. Yes, very good. Good job, Yurio. Another one, okay? What’s the color of my eyes?”

“Brown.”

“Yes, good. Now Victor’s?”

“Brown.”

Yuuri hesitated, “N-No. Victor’s eyes. What color are Victor’s eyes?”

“Brown.”

“No, honey. You’re not listening to me,” Yuuri pined, leaning in claustrophobically close to Yuri’s semi-conscious form, “I’m asking for  _ Victor’s _ eye color. You remember, don’t you? You remember Victor?”

“Asshole…” Yuri muttered. He stuck both of his palms to his forehead, ramming the heels of his hands against his skull, bearing down on it with all the strength he could muster, pressing down so intently it looked like he was causing himself physical pain.

Yuuri’s heart skipped a beat, “Yurio,  _ please. _ Don’t-”

“-I’m back, hold on,” Victor said, reentering the living room. He had a beverage in each hand, a glass of ice water in his right, and something warm and honey-colored in his left. He sat down between the Yuris, urging the glass forward.

“Here, drink some water first,” he said, “Then have this.”

Yuuri helped him sit up on the sofa, inwardly cringing at the feeling of Yuri’s spine beneath his shirt. He eyed the steamy drink suspiciously, “What is that?”

“It has ginger in it. It’s a home recipe,” Victor rushed to say, looking embarrassed—almost to the point where he looked ashamed of himself. He helped Yuri finish off the water as he tried to explain, “It- Well, the- the steroids I take- Sometimes the needles make me nauseous. To the point where I almost pass out. This, um- This helps.”

“Oh, Victor.”

The former skater faked a smile, “It’s okay. It tastes good. Yurio will like it. Hey- hey, wait. Yura, you’ve got to sit up straight so you can dri- Okay, there you go. Good. Here. Take a sip. There you go, tiger.”

Victor coaxed him with the voice like honey, with his rehearsed grace and decency, meanwhile, Yuuri sat back and watched his namesake wince with each sip, watched the way his throat twitched with each unfamiliar swallow.

“Yurio, I’m going to ask you another question, and I need you to be completely honest with me. I need complete transparency. Any kind of lie is… well, it- it would just be bad. I need you to be honest with me, okay?”

Victor pulled the cup away from Yuri’s lips, and Yuri managed a little nod of acknowledgement.

Yuuri took a shaky breath, “Do you need to go to the hospital?”

There was a subtle, almost unnoticeable, shake of the head.

“Are you absolutely sure? Because if you do, we will drop everything and-”

“-’m okay,” Yuri croaked out. He weakly readjusted his position on the couch, “‘m not that bad yet.”

The soon-to-be-weds made a quick glimpse of eye contact.

“Okay,” Yuuri said, “I’m trusting you, okay? I believe you. So what do you need? Food and rest, right?”

Yuri nodded like his head weighed as much as a planet, bearing down on his withering neck and crushing his upper convalescent body.

“Okay,” Yuuri forced himself to nod, too. He gave Victor a quick flick of indication, “Victor, would you-?”

“-On it,” he said, agiley moving back to the kitchen.

While they anxiously waited for his return, Yuri cried out a defeated mewl of a sound, wincing back against the couch cushions.

Yuuri put his hand on his shoulder, “Oh, I know, honey. I know. This is hard, I know it is. You’re going to be just fine.”

He sat there squeezing his friend’s shoulder, feigning confidence for Yuri’s sake but not feeling one drop of it himself, wondering what kind of tormenting thoughts were plaguing Yuri’s mind right now, and wondering for himself how they let him get this bad, how they never noticed, and if Yuri pulled any strings to orchestrate their obliviousness.

When Victor returned, he had a wide plate supporting cheese and crackers with a sliced apple.

“Thank you, Victor. Set it down here,” Yuuri picked up a cracker and added a cheese slice with careful fingers, passing it off to Yuri. He expected Yuri would take the food from his hands, but he just sat there, looking at it dismally.

“I have to?” he asked, grey and pale.

Yuuri took a long inhale through his nose, and then said, “It would be really good for you if you did. It’s better than the hospital, isn’t it?”

“Can-” Yuri squeezed his eyes shut, “Can I at least take the cheese off?”

“Um,” Yuuri had to think back to his textbook, “S-Sure. If that’s what would make you more comfortable.”

“Can I at least start with the apple?”

“No. You may start with the crackers,” Yuuri instructed delicately. There had to be some sense of direction, some sort of rule. Not all eating disorder behavior could be excused.

“ … Do you have to watch me?”

“Yura,” Victor shoved the plate forward, “You heard Yuuri. It’s either this or the hospital.”

The moment the harsh words left Victor’s mouth, a kind of life finally returned to the ghosts of Yuri’s eyes, but not in a pleasant way. Resentment brewed in the hues of his green irises, scowling at Victor, “Make me.”

Victor’s jaw was firm, “Don’t think I won’t.”

Yuuri placed a hand on his shoulder, “Victor-!”

“-Dear, don’t-”

“-I won’t eat a damn thing!”

“Yura-”

“-Wait, Yurio! Hold on! Don’t let Vict-”

“-I won’t! Just to spite him!”

“I get that you’re upset, tiger, but there’s no need to yell at my fiancé! We’re helping you. You need to eat something.”

Yuri spit in Victor’s direction, “Fucking make me.”

Victor didn’t flinch, not even when a bit of saliva landed directly on his chin. He was as poised and stoic as ever, even when Yuri lurched forward on the couch and started to badger him in punches and slaps across the chest. Victor barely reacted at all. He just sat there, composed and elegant, and let Yuri tire himself out with punch, after slap, after punch, after slap.

Maybe Victor hadn’t exaggerated when he said Yuri wasn’t strong enough to hurt him.

By the time the fighting was over, Yuri was the only one defeated. He was breathless and strained, his face gurning with exhaustion. He was hissing out curses with every gasp, not even cognizant of Victor carefully, gently leaned him back down against the couch cushions.

Yuri raised both hands to slap again, but this time, Victor caught him by the wrists before he could land a blow on him.

Yuri tried pulling free, but Victor kept him in place. Not harshly.

He gave a nod to his lover, “Yuuri.”

A moment of silence suspended in the air, and then Yuuri’s mind finally caught up to speed. Shifting the plate between his hands, he picked up a cracker between two fingers.

“Yurio,” he said, leaning in, “May I feed you?”

He watched Yuri’s fingers curl in one by one, creeping into closure, like the legs of a spider’s withering corpse. He heard the muffled cry of defeat that caught in Yuri’s throat, and saw the fall of his bangs across his face as he lowered his head. He eventually nodded, tenuously parting his lips, his wrists ensnared in a gentle loving force.

Holding his breath, Yuuri fed him the first cracker.

Yuri chewed slowly, unpracticed jaws laboring to grind it into a paste before swallowing, almost coughing as he forced it down. He had the most heartbreaking look of defeat on his face, too weak to mask his sheer hatred. Eventually, though, his hunger must have overpowered his discomfort, because as they went on, cracker after cracker, apple slice after apple slice, he fought less. He chewed a little quicker. He even accidentally sucked or nibbled at Yuuri’s fingers a few times, too eager for more.

Over the course of a tightly scrutinized, stiffly elongated two hours, he ate everything on the plate, including the cheese, and finished the last of Victor’s drink, too, his wrists away from him until the end. By then, he was exhausted, and he had every right to be.

“You may sleep now, Yurio,” Yuuri said in a breaking voice, his eyes lined with tears, “You did so well. I’m so proud of you.”

“No, you’re not.”

Those were the last words Yuri, depleted to the bone, managed to mutter before he couldn’t stay awake any longer. His head turned to the side when sleep found him, his breath garnering a stable rhythm for the first time since he woke up.

Victor finally let his wrists go, “Yuuri?”

Yuuri wiped at his eyes, “Hm? Wh-What? What is it?”

“Are you okay?”

“ … I don’t know,” he admitted, “That was a lot.”

“You did great, love. You handled it so professionally,” Victor tried to encourage, but he was clearly tired, too.

“Thanks, but I don’t really feel like that’s the case,” Yuuri sighed, “ … Hey, Vic?”

“Yes, dear?”

“Are you sure you don’t want to have children? Because you’d make such a good dad…”

Victor smiled. He was exhausted. His eyes were red and dry, his hair was disheveled. But he smiled sincerely, “A few years from now, certainly. I would love to be a father with you,” he laughed tiredly and added, “As long as I don’t have to be the bad parent all the time. We’d have to take turns.”

“No, no. No bad parents here. We’ll both be good parents,” Yuuri leaned against his lover, his own exhaustion finally beginning to weigh him down, “Thank you for going through that with me.”

“I’d never let you face something like that alone, dear. Not if I can help it. You’re too good for this cruel world.”

“I love you.”

Victor kissed his forehead, “I love you, too. More than anything.”

“May we sleep here?”

“Immediately,” Victor grinned, “Makkachin can be my pillow.”

“And you’ll be mine,” Yuuri said, yawning. He curled up against Victor’s chest, taking in his musky scent. He pressed the cup of his ear against Victor’s heartbeat, finding subtle comfort in the rhythm.

He was ultimately debilitated, but sleep couldn’t reach him. For some reason, he was sore.

He realized, with absolutely no emotional connotation, that it was only nine in the morning, and that they missed their flight.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter: some more iffy things are said about eating disorders/mental health that could be offensive  
> oh, and there's also graphic description of vomiting

Their flight was rescheduled for the next day, their plans altered only slightly. Their new flight didn’t permit animals, so Makkachin was temporarily left behind with a pet sitter, and would be picked up at a later date. As for meeting Yakov at the airport, that was changed, too; Yakov had already made it to St. Petersburg, having caught the flight they missed, and was currently awaiting their arrival at Yuri’s grandfather’s house. Besides that, their flight was essentially the same.

But it didn’t feel the same. Not at all. There were so many new precautions today.

For one thing, Yuuri sat Yuri down to have breakfast. He learned from his books that eating meals together as a group or a family was far more effective in terms of working to establish comfort with food, so he and Victor sat down to eat it with him. Unsurprisingly, the breakfast was long and slow. Yuri didn’t make eye contact once, he just ate his fruit salad, chewing at a pace inhumanly lethargic. Victor tried for conversation way too desperately.   
On the other hand, Yuuri didn’t mind the awkward strain. As long as Yuri was putting food in his stomach, he would endure any kind of tension.

Another precaution was taken in the way they walked through the airport, all three of them travelling at a snail’s pace. Yuri was doing noticeably better with mobility compared to yesterday; there was less of a divide in the way he shifted his weight, and he no longer swayed back and forth. But it was still clear how easily movement depleted him because he still had that dazed look in his eyes and a tight grimace in his mouth. So they kept their movements slow.

There was no way in hell he was going to let Victor and Yuri sit side by side for the entire flight; the bruise on Victor’s cheek was still bold and undismissable; so Yuuri sat completely sandwiched between the two. At first, it made him uncomfortable. But then he observed the way they were completely at peace, entirely undisturbed, and it warmed his heart.

The flight itself took a bit longer than expected due to some harsh winds in the atmosphere. Nevertheless they arrived in St. Petersburg safely, and sat around the airport as they waited for Yakov and Yuri’s grandfather to come pick them up. Yuuri sat in a lounge chair, engrossed in another eating disorder book, while Yuri sat beside him, texting Otabek and smiling to himself.

“So,” Yuuri tried for conversation, not looking up from his book, “Are you happy to be back home?”

“Mhm,” Yuri smiled, his eyes lazily glazed over with glee, “I’m excited to see Grandpa again. And I want you to meet my baby girl.”

Yuuri choked, “U-Um.  _ What?” _

Yuri rolled his eyes, a glint of his personality shining though. He closed his texts with Otabek and opened the photo gallery on his phone, where he showed Yuuri a picture of a cream-colored cat with a black snout and mittens, a cat whose fluff seemed to make up half her body weight. She was curled up on what looked like a standard teenager’s bed, the sheets thrown askew and littered with gum wrappers, electronics, and abandoned homework.

Yuuri smiled, mostly just because Yuri was smiling. It was good to see him happy.

“She looks like a sweet cat,” he said, inwardly praying for Yuri’s smile to never go away, “What’s her name?”

“Potya,” Yuri mumbled, rubbing his nimble thumb over the screen as if he were petting her.

“I didn’t know you were a cat person.”

“Mhm.”

“I would have thought that cat-ear headband your fangirls threw at you would have scared you away from cats.”

“I don’t know. I guess I sort of liked that headband.”

“Victor and I have always sort of been dog people.”

“Yeah, that’s why you idiots are screwed,” he smirked.

The insult didn’t even hit him. Yuuri was just happy to see Yuri’s personality again.

“Yuuri! Yurio!” Victor waved at them from across the hall, his head held high, “Our ride’s here!”

Yuri snapped to attention, “Grandpa?”

“Yeah! He and Yakov are right outside,” Victor explained, coming forward to gather their suitcases. Only an absolute idiot would permit Yuri to carry his own luggage in the state he’s in. Toting suitcases in both hands, Victor cocked his head towards the airport doors, “Go ahead! I’ll get this for you. Don’t keep the grouchy old men waiting.”

Yurio beamed with sudden invigoration. From the looks of it, he wanted to jump up from his seat and dash out to his grandfather, but all he could manage was a shaky standing up and quick limps out the airport doors.

Yuuri stayed a few feet behind, walking at Victor’s pace and helping him with the luggage. They shared a small smile, enjoying their last precious moment of a couple’s solidarity before they would have to surrender their intimacy to be surrounded by people again.

When they made it outside, Yuuri was assailed by an arctic bite of wind, a blast of coldness that Victor didn’t seem to notice. Yuri didn’t notice it, either. The teenager was quick to spot his grandfather, standing a little ways down the sidewalk, waving him over with the full extent of his arm.

_ “Dedushka!” _ Yuri cried, moving forward with sudden urgency.

He then did something that surprised Yuuri. He jumped onto his grandfather, barreling right into the old man’s midsection, wrapping his legs around his waist and his arms around his shoulders, just like the way a little kid would. A little kid who ate well and moved freely, blissfully ignorant to any form of mental and physical disintegration. 

The old man stumbled back a little, almost tripping. He secured an arm around his grandson’s waist to save them from falling, but that didn’t stop him from barking out a muffled shout.

“Yura, calm down, by God!” he laughed, making a deep and throaty sound, “My poor old back. You’re getting too heavy for this, vnuk!”

Yuri stiffened. His smile vanished, his jaw tightening.

Yuuri sucked in air, preparing for the worst.

But Yuri just hopped off his grandpa, landing softly on the concrete sidewalk. His smile returned, though it was forced this time, a bit subdued, “Hey, I missed you.”

“If you really missed me, you would have called!” he chuckled again. His voice was impressively dense, even with all the raspiness of his age. He sounded like he was booming every time he spoke, each word punctuated and deliberate.

Yuuri had forgotten what Yuri’s grandfather looked like. He was taller than Yakov, who stood a little ways behind him, but not taller than Victor. His shoulders were broad and his belly was round. He had two-toned salt and pepper hair with a well-groomed beard. At first glance, he didn’t resemble his grandson at all, but then Yuuri noticed their shared green color of the iris and determined arch of the eyebrows.

He looked down at his grandson with concern, turning Yuri’s face over with his large worker’s hands. Then he noticed Yuuri and Victor approaching them, and he scowled, “Vitya!”

Victor flinched, “What?!”

“I know my little devil here can be a pain in the arse, but you didn’t have to hit him,” he said, turning Yuri’s face over to expose the bruise, “I know he’s got to work on controlling his anger, but you certainly know better.”

“Huh?” Victor blinked. Then he remembered his own bruise, “Oh! Oh  _ that!” _

Now it was Yakov’s turn to get upset. He glared, shaking his head, “Of course you try to take out my number one skater. Couldn’t take the competition, could you? You didn’t want-”

“-No!”

“-Oh my god, Grandpa! Yakov!” Yuri exclaimed.

“Vitya!”

“It wasn’t me! It was-”

“Stop it!”

“Yura, did you hit Victor?”

“Yeah, but he totally deserved it!”

_ “Vitya!” _

“Hold on, hold on!”

Yuuri felt a headache coming on. He felt bad about it, because he supposed he wasn’t prepared for an engagement with four loud Russians, three of whom with drastic tempers. He felt awkward. He didn’t know how to intervene; he didn’t know if he even  _ wanted _ to intervene.

Yuri finally pressed both hands against his grandfather’s chest and said, “Oh my god,  _ stop. _ I am  _ fine, _ Victor is  _ fine, _ everybody’s  _ fine. _ We’re all fine, fine, fine,  _ fine.” _

The grandfather sighed, rolling his eyes in a way very similar to the way Yuri did. Then he patted his grandson on both shoulders and said, “I suppose I’ll hear the full story later. That story, and much more.”

Yuri’s pupils shrunk, “Grandpa, what-”

“-For now, let’s head on home. I’m sure your friend here is cold in all this Russian weather,” he smiled, outstretching a hand to Yuuri, “Good afternoon, I’m happy to meet you. My name is Nikolai.”

“We’ve met before, actually,” Yuuri smiled and shook his hand, impressed by the man’s transition from blatant and loud to soft and subtle.

“Ah, have we?” Nikolai frowned, scratching his beard, “I’m sorry, I suppose my memory isn’t what it used to be.”

“Don’t apologize, please. I’m happy to be here with my fiancé and your grandson. I really appreciate you inviting us to dinner.”

“Such manners. You could learn a thing or two from this one, Yura,” Nikolai smirked, slapping a hand down on his grandson’s shoulder.

Yuuri noticed the way Yuri flinched, caving under the pressure.

“Let’s get home, then,” Nikolai said, taking charge, “Dinner’s warming up. And there’s a special someone waiting to see you, Yura.”

Yuri smiled, “My baby girl. I miss her.”

As they walked in unison towards the parking garage, Victor and Yuuri shared a private, knowing smile, but didn’t let Yuri see. The blonde stretched his arms over his head and sighed, “Not gonna lie, I think I missed Potya more than I missed you.”

“You little bugger,” Nikolai chuckled, “You’re such a pain.”

“But you love me,” Yuri smirked.

“You make it difficult, but yes, I do.”

Yuuri kept his grin hidden as they strolled along the rows of cars. He admired the complete transparency there was between them. It made him tenuously jealous that he couldn’t access Yuri’s vulnerability the way Nikolai could, but for the most part, he was just delighted to see Yuri smiling again.

As a group, they approached an old navy blue truck with a wide bed and few seats. Nikolai knocked his fist along the side of the vehicle, “Yura, Vitya, you two are in the back. Try not to give each other any more bruises.”

“What!? How come we’re in the back?!”

“Because the truck only has three seats, and old men and guests have priority,” Nikolai gruffed. He didn’t elaborate, he just stepped into the driver’s seat, favoring his aching back.

Yuuri stuck a hand up, “U-Um, no, it’s okay! You don’t need to-”

“-Stuff and nonsense,” Nikolai grumbled, “Those two are pure-bred Russians. They can take the cold.”

“Are you sure? Because I can-”

Victor interrupted, “It’s okay, dear, it’s fun to ride in the back!”

Yuri sighed, already throwing his leg over the side of the truck and hopping into the bed, “I don’t mind. I’ll just try not to kill him.”

Victor and Yuri clambered into the back of the truck together, rearranging some blankets that were left in the bed, and resting up against the luggage comfortably. They looked strangely… cute. The scene reminded Yuuri of coming-of-age movies, when the high school kids were getting ready for a road trip together.

Yuuri also noticed the way Victor made sure Yuri had more blanket coverage than he did. They learned recently that people with eating disorders are often cold. Underweight bodies don’t maintain heat as they should. It made Yuuri wonder how his namesake managed to step out on the ice every day, wearing the thinnest material imaginable.

“Katsuki,” Yakov called from inside the truck, “Don’t dawdle.”

“Sorry!” he snapped back to attention, “I’m coming!”

The drive to the Plisetsky house was a little awkward to say the least. For the second time today, Yuuri had to ride in the middle seat. And this time, it was between two older Russian men whom he was not comfortable around. They were talking the whole time, speaking in the language Yuuri didn’t understand, which made him feel even more out of place.

He told himself to focus on the scenery outside, and that put his mind at bay for the rest of the ride. He loved watching the way the cityscape slowed over time, how the buildings gradually became shorter and more spaced apart. He was only slightly familiar with St. Petersburg. Even though he and Victor owned an apartment in the downtown area, he never really took the time to see the sights the city had to offer. He watched fields yellowed by the cold air roll into view, stretching for miles under a grey and placid sky. His nerves settled a bit, imagining he was breathing the fresh air of the outside world, instead of the recirculating stuffy air of a claustrophobic, beaten-down truck.

Eventually, on the outskirts of St. Petersburg, a house rolled into view. The truck pulled to a stop on a gravel driveway, and Victor and Yuri hopped out of the bed before anyone else did, the coach turning to unload the suitcases, the skater scurrying off to a cat on the porch. Stepping outside of the truck, Yuuri was able to gage the house for the first time, and when he did, something sunk in his chest. The house was smaller than he anticipated, even for a family of two. There were weeds all over the garden, laden under permafrost. He could see cracks in some of the windows, a peeling screen on the front door, and roof tiles that had fallen onto the dirt.

“Potya!” Yuri exclaimed, wrapping his arms around a cat that had been wrestling in the grass. His happiness was undeterred by the environment, if anything, it was only more potent. He picked up his cat, the tail flicking across his face, and carried her back to Yuuri’s side.

“You can pet her if you want,” Yuri said, scratching behind her ears. Potya purred immediately at the response, her snout arching up.

“You’d let me?” Yuuri smiled, “Aw, Yurio, thanks. That’s really sweet of-”

He noticed the way Yuri held Potya, his forearms twisted inwards, his elbows jutting out. He was resting most of the cat’s weight against his hip, like his arms alone were unable to lift her.

“-Actually,” Yuuri licked his lips, “I-I was going to help Victor bring in the luggage.”

“Suit yourself. She’d probably bite you anyway,” Yuri shrugged, turning on his heel and heading towards the front porch, limping under Potya’s miniscule weight.

He heard a sigh from behind him.

“He isn’t doing well, is he?” Nikolai muttered, watching Yuri ascend the wooden porch steps.

Yuuri swallowed, “How much do you know?”

“Very little. He shuts me out.”

That surprised Yuuri. Based on the way they interacted earlier, he never would have guessed.

“Sir, Victor and I wanted to talk to you about that, actually.”

“Dedushka!” Yuri called from the porch, standing over a pair of black high tops, “Whose shoes are these? Because if you tell me they’re yours, I must be on a different planet.”

“Hm, I’m not sure,” Nikolai feigned obliviousness, “Why don’t you go inside and see?”

Yuri had that adorable glint of determination in his eyes, his mouth set in a firm smirk. He threw open the door, the ripped screen jostling at the motion, and dashed inside with Potya in his arms.

Yuuri smiled, “Otabek?”

“Who else?” Nikolai said, scratching his beard. He gave a cock of the head towards Yakov, moving towards the house, “Come on, old friend. Supper should be ready by now.”

Yakov followed after him, grumbling, “Let’s hope the kid eats it this time.”

“Sir,” Yuuri heard himself call to Yakov’s backside, “You shouldn’t speak like-”

He was cut off by a loud noise, when Victor accidentally dropped one of the suitcases. The latch unlocked, and a familiar-looking set of needles and syringes topped out, scattering across the dirt.

Something dropped in Yuuri’s stomach.

Victor saw the look on his face, and his blue eyes went wide, “Yuuri.”

“Victor, why did you bring those?”

“You…” he looked seconds away from breaking into tears, “You never told me not to…”

“Oh God, Vic,” Yuuri took a sharp inhale, cupping his hands to his forehead, “I assumed you’d already know to-” he almost cursed. He stopped himself, but just barely.

“I’m sorry…”

“I know you are, Vic, I know you are, but this is just-” he stopped himself, taking another inhale. Then he scooped up the syringes and needles, shovelling them back into the suitcase. He tucked the suitcase under his arm, away from Victor, “We’ll talk about this later, okay?”

Victor nodded meekly, fragile and childlike.

Yuuri frowned. He took his fiancé’s hand in his and squeezed his fingers tightly, “Want to go inside and have dinner?”

Victor nodded again, more subtle this time. Yakov and Nikolai had already gone inside—they hadn’t seen the steroids, thank God- so Victor and Yuuri had the opportunity to stroll hand and hand along the frosted, muddy ground. The closer they got to the house, the greater the stench of mold became, and it took everything in Yuuri’s willpower to not grimace. He wanted to say something about the smell, about the house, about Victor’s steroids, about Nikolai and Yurio, but he couldn’t think of a way to say anything inoffensive.

“They’ve always lived like this,” Victor said, as if reading Yuuri’s mind, ascending a wooden porch step that groaned when he stepped on it.

“Are they doing okay?”

“They are. From what I can tell. I mean, Yurio still buys high-end clothes, doesn’t he?” Victor forced a smile.

He held open the door for Yuuri, and they entered, but not before taking off their shoes and leaving them on the porch, which seemed to be the custom for this household. When they entered, all the cacophony that had been pleasantly absent outside returned, assailing Yuuri’s ears almost immediately. The two old men were debating over something political, taking up the entire width of their seats at the humble table, and the two teenagers were vibrantly chatting about something as they set the table for dinner, Otabek supporting far more dishes than Yuri could hold.

Oh, Otabek. He had certainly changed since the last time Yuuri saw him at the Grand Prix. He looked up from the bowls and silverware when they entered, giving Yuuri a lackluster smile, “Good evening, Katsuki. How are you?”

“I’m grateful to be here, thank you,” Yuuri said breathily, marvelling at how much Otabek has grown, “My goodness you’ve really—Okay, I’m going to sound like a mother when I say this— but you’ve really gotten taller. And broader. You seem so mature.”

Otabek gave a conservative shrug, “It’s been a while, I guess. And I’ve been working out.”

Yurio was trying to hold back a smile, but was failing endearingly, “Beka, you and I should go on a run together sometime.”

Otabek’s jaws churned backwards, also stifling his excitement when he said, “Yeah, sure. That sounds cool.”

They were absolutely precious, catching glimpses of each other when the other wasn’t looking, holding eye contact for a little too long, nervously raising and lowering their voices each time they talked to each other. It reminded Yuuri of the days he was still testing the waters with Victor, when he had been awkwardly tripping over himself on a day to day basis, and honestly, it really _ did _ make him feel like a mother—though he would sooner die than admit that to Yuri. He was watching his friend grow up before his very eyes, experimenting with a place unknown, joining Yuuri in the world of convoluted relationships and strenuous adulthoods.

His heart didn’t feel so warm anymore, not even when he saw the way Otabek made Yuri giggle.

They finished setting the meager table, a bowl of some kind of meaty stew placed in the center. The table was clearly not designed to feed six people, it only had two matching chairs, so a few stools and random furniture pieces were brought around to support all six of them.

If they had one, Yuuri would have offered to sit on the sofa, but they didn’t have a sofa. They didn’t even have a living room. The whole house could have fit in his and Victor’s St. Petersburg apartment; there was nothing but a kitchen, a dining area the size of Nikolai’s truck, and a small hallway leading to two undersized bedrooms on the other side and a bathroom between them.

As everyone began to take their “seats” at the table, Yuuri peered into the large center bowl, catching a glimpse of the meal inside. It was more broth than base, and it had a meaty scent so assertive it made Yuuri’s nose scrunch up. He had never been fond of Russian cuisine. It never settled in his stomach the way Japanese food did. Yuuri didn’t mind, of course, he was thankful for each meal that filled his stomach (he had been praying  _ especially _ diligently over his food lately, ever since he started noticing the way his namesake seemed to despise it), he just couldn’t help but crave the flavor of home.

Nikolai, Yakov, and Otabek, dove right into the meal as soon as they sat down, but Victor and Yuuri shared a brief grace, as was their tradition, before they waited for Nikolai to serve them their portions. Using a long serving spoon with a handle so dented it looked inverted, the grandfather slapped a spoonful of broth and meat into Yuuri’s bowl, and he thanked him politely.

In all honesty, by looks alone, Yuuri had no idea what animal the meat came from. It could have been anything. There was a high percentage of fat still clinging to the meat—a common occurrence he noticed with cuisine from this region.

When Yuuri took a bite, the lack of flavor could have choked him. But he urged a smile and swallowed it down with water.

“So, Otabek,” Victor said, prompting conversation, “Did you travel far to get here?”

“Not far. It was a fine enough flight, despite all the wind,” Otabek shrugged, taking in a massive, dripping spoonful of meat that Yuuri couldn’t imagine stomaching. He wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve, stopped, glanced at Yuri’s grandfather, and then wiped his mouth with a napkin. He cleared his throat before going on, “I was kind of thinking the weather would delay it, but I guess I got lucky. Is that what happened to you guys?”

“Pardon?”

“Is that why you guys came here a day late? The weather?”

Yuri was quick to fib, “Yeah, something like that. No big deal.”

“Yura, for the love of God,” Nikolai muttered, “Stop pushing your food around your plate and eat it.”

“I am eating it,” Yuri muttered back, raising neither his voice nor his gaze.

“You’re playing with it.”

“I’m-”

“-Yuri.”

Yuri marginally swallowed, taking a reluctant sip of water. He nodded in his grandfather’s direction quasi convincingly.

Yuuri felt his grip around his spoon tighten, the bitter cold of the metal pinching his skin. Apparently, his namesake didn’t argue with his grandfather. Had it been anyone else, they would have been ripped to shreds by now, Yuuri was sure, but it was different when it came to Nikolai.

As possessive and manipulative as his thoughts seemed to be, Yuuri couldn’t help but wonder if Yuri’s obedience to his grandfather would serve as an advantage—he noticed the way Yuri moved food around his bowl, making the amount look smaller— or a disadvantage when it came to bringing up the prospect of therapy.

The meal stretched on long into the night, the dinner party gathered around the table as the sky faded darker and the winds flew quicker. They spoke in English, the only lingua franca among all six of them, swapping stories and telling jokes despite the elephant in the room. It almost felt like an authentic family dinner with the way the candles burned in the background, the way the amount of stew gradually diminished from the pot, the way Otabek and Yuri were trying to hide their charming glances at each other, and the way everyone else pretended they didn’t notice, with Yakov mildly disgusted, Victor and Yuuri touched, and Nilokai somewhere in between.

By the time dinner was done, all of the bowls were emptied except for the Yuris’. Yuuri had done his best to finish the meal for the sake of being polite, but he honestly couldn’t bring himself to stomach it. He managed to clear off about eighty percent of his bowl, though, and that was enough for him. Yuri, on the other hand, had mostly just consumed the broth, having only consumed about four bites of the meat itself--but this time, it’s not like Yuuri could blame him, this kind of food wasn’t the best for an upset stomach.

“If you’d like,” Nikolai said late into the night, long after Yakov had gone off to his own house and they had all had their fair share of vodka and white wine, “You and Victor may spend the night here with us. I know your apartment is a little ways into the city, and it’s already so cold outside.”

“I wouldn’t want to trouble you,” Yuuri smiled, running a hand through Victor’s hair. Victor was dozing off again, this time at the dinner table. He had his head on Yuuri’s shoulder with his back somehow  _ miraculously _ still straight against the chair despite his sleeping. Maybe it was a figure skater thing. Maybe it was a steroids thing.

“No trouble at all. Besides, good ol’ Vitya’s already out for the night,” Nikolai shook his head, scratching his beard, “You and your fiancé can stay in my grandson’s room. Yura can share my bed tonight.”

“Is Otabek not spending the night?”

There was a flash of something in Nikolai’s eyes, eyes once viridian like his grandson’s, but greyed by age. It wasn’t anger that appeared in the frown of his mouth and the scrunch of his brow, it was a kind of passive protectiveness.

“This is his first time over,” Nikolai finally said, his hands folded together under his chin, “I won’t let them rush into things.”

Yuuri found himself smiling, “You take good care of Yurio, don’t you?”

“I thought I did. One look at him proves me wrong, though,” Nikolai mumbled to himself, rising from the table, “Would you like to go to bed? I can get Otabek to leave now and-”

“-Actually, sir?” Yuuri raised a hand, wordlessly asking for him to sit back down, “Victor and I were hoping we can talk to you about that. About Yurio.”

The old man sat back down, emitting a heavy, pained sound.   
“Yes,” he muttered, clearing his throat, “Yes, I think that would be best.”

Yuuri patted his fiancé’s arm, “Victor?” he whispered, “Can you wake up, please?”

Victor groaned, his eyes still closed.

“Wake up, please? We’re going to talk about Yurio now.”

Victor finally opened his eyes, squinting a little as he adjusted to the light. His whole body seemed to wince upon awakening, like a nocturnal creature being exposed to the sun.

“Vic,” Yuuri said gently, easing a hand onto his shoulder, “Are you ready to talk about this? You okay?”

Victor blinked a few times, dazed with sleep and unsure. His skin looked yellow, his eyes dry. He emitted an odd guttural sound before he said, “Actually… I need to go to the bathroom.”

“Oh,” Yuuri heard himself exclaim, “Um- Okay, um, are you okay?”

Victor stood from the table, waving his hand dismissively, “Yes, fine. Start without me. I’ll be right back.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, yes, just-” Victor grimaced a bit. Then he remembered himself, forcing a smile, “Be right back. Just need a little air. That’s all, love.”

He kept his posture upright and forward as he went off, the weak floorboards groaning beneath him. As much as Yuuri wanted to follow and check on him, he couldn’t leave the old man across the table. He has never been as close to saving Yuri’s life as he has in this moment right now. He would be a fool to blow the opportunity.

“Mr. Nikolai,” Yuuri began, “We were talking about- Well… Actually, is there anything you want to say before I start? Anything you’d like to get off your chest?”

The old man sighed, taking off his flat beret and twisting it between his large worker’s hands, “Just know that it isn’t my fault. I’ve done my best to feed him. To take care of him. I know I don’t have much to give, but I’ve given all that I can.”

“Oh… Sir, wait! Hold on,” Yuuri put a hand over his heart, “I’m not saying that you haven’t! I know you work hard to take care of him, I’m only talking about-”

“-I know I’m not the best guardian. He has too many responsibilities, and I’m aware of that. Don’t think I don’t feel guilty about it every day.”

“Sir, please. Yurio loves you with his entire being. This isn’t about that, he- You must have noticed he is unwell.”

“How could I not?” Nikolai muttered almost angrily, “The kid’s knocking on death’s door.”

“Don’t say that. Please,” Yuuri tried to ignore the sudden heat in his cheekbones, “He- Victor and I believe that he has a severe eating disorder. And we—Well, we don’t want to do anything without your permission, but we, um, we would like to send him to someone who can help him. I’ve… been doing research. I found a good therapist only a ten minute’s drive from here and- Well, we were hoping you could sign some consent papers so Yurio can start taking sessions.”

The old man’s mind worked slowly. Yuuri could almost hear the faint, rhythmic turning of cogs in his head, churning lethargically and with strenuous effort. Nikolai frowned, processing, “What do you mean ‘someone who can help him?’ A doctor?”

“Yes, sort of. A therapist,” Yuuri didn’t like the way Nikolai was taking too long to give a direct answer, an answer that should be obvious, “If you need help financially, Victor and I wouldn’t mind paying for a portion of it. I’m sure Yakov would help, too. Lilia and Mila, even.”

“An eating disorder?”

“It could be another type, but I think it’s anorexia nervosa,” he used the recently-learned scientific name, internally grimacing at how such a sweet-sounding word meant something so devastating.

Nikolai was scarily silent.

“Sir, thank you for sitting through this talk with me, I know this is hard, but-”

“-He isn’t some young girl.”

Yuuri swallowed, “Sir?”

“In all due respect, Katsuki,” Nikolai began, punching the consonants in his last name with aged force, “I know you and your figure skating community has some kind of obsession with feminizing my grandson, but this is taking it a tad too far, don’t you think?”

“Femini…” Yuuri was flabbergasted, his mouth dropping,  _ “Excuse me?” _

“The long hair, the performance outfits, the dance classes. Trying to turn him into a  _ prima ballerina, _ for crying out loud. Don’t think I haven’t noticed,” he grumbled, sounding more worried than he did irate, “And don’t think it isn’t bothering him. He’s complained about it to me more times than I can count. As much as you and the others may try to convince yourselves, to convince  _ him _ that he is, he is not a girl.”

Yuuri’s mouth hung open long enough for his tongue to go dry. He had to snap himself back into focus, leaning forward on the table to say, “Nikolai, I don’t know how much- rather, how  _ little _ \- you know about mental health, but women are absolutely  _ not _ the only-”

He was interrupted by a sound that made his heart temporarily stop beating.

At first, he thought it was his imagination, but then he realized Nikolai heard it, too. It was the distinct hacking sound of someone vomiting.

“Oh my God. Yurio!” he shot up from the table, the old man rising with only half the speed, and scrambled down the tiny hall, quick to arrive at the bathroom door. He tried the handle, but it was locked, so he resorted to pounding at the door with his fist, “Yurio? Yurio, come out of there! Please open up!”

A door opened, but it wasn’t the bathroom door. Just behind Yuuri, the tiny bedroom door flew open, and a very flustered teenager with windswept blonde hair rushed out, feverishly readjusting his wrinkled t-shirt, “It was only kissing, I  _ swear! _ Nothing more!”

The Yuris stared at each other, staring, thinking, reassessing.

Then Nikolai caught up, and Yuri turned an even darker shade of crimson, “Hi, Grandpa.”

“Wait a minute,” Yuuri swallowed, “If you’re here, then-”

_ “-Kobuta-chan?”  _ Victor mumbled from the other side of the bathroom door,  _ “Is that you…? Hold on, I’ll let you in… let me unlock it…” _

“I’ll leave you to tend to your fiancé,” Nikolai said, nodding grimly, “since he’s asking for you. Besides,” he turned to his grandson instead, “my grandson and I need to have a talk outside.”

Yuri blanched. Then he sighed, squeezing his eyes shut, “Katsudon, whenever you’re done helping Victor, be sure to find wherever Grandpa hides my dead body and bury it.”

In another time, another place, Yuuri would have liked to laugh at the joke. Instead, he could only eagerly wait for the bathroom door to unlock, heavily relieved when heard the familiar click, and slipped inside, shutting the door behind him.

Victor was at the sink, running water over the back of his neck, cooling down. His skin appeared clammy and his hands were twitching sporadically.

“Victor?” Yuuri approached him carefully, bringing a gentle hand to stroke his hunched backside, “Vic, what’s the matter? Is the stew bothering your stomach?”

Victor coughed a little. He took his head out of the sink, water trickling down from his hair, and looked at him with the guiltiest look Yuuri’s ever seen.   
“Honey. Darling,” Victor sniffed, grimacing as he spoke, “I’m sorry… can you go get my methandienone?”

“ … You mean your steroids.”

Victor winced, “Look,” he croaked, “I know you don’t like that I’m taking them, so I tried to stop, okay? I tried to stop, and now look at me…”

He jerked forward, his throat twitching. Then he promptly flinched away from Yuuri, heaving an acrid mixture of stomach acid and meat fat into the toilet bowl, coughing in between streams of puke.

Yuuri’s stomach twisted with guilt and queasiness, “Vic, you tried to stop? All on your own? Just like that? All at once, with no help or-”

“-I wanted to make you happy, okay?” Victor whimpered. Then his mood shifted and his face gurned into something nasty, on the verge of vomiting again, “Of course you aren’t happy, damn it. You’re never happy when you’re with me.”

“Oh my god, Vic… stop. Please, stop, you don’t know what you’re-”

“-Get the goddamn steroids.”

“…”

“…”

“…okay. Hang tight, okay? I’ll be right back. I think Otabek’s still in the house if you need anything. Call for him if something happens while I’m gone, alright?”

Victor managed a weak nod, not lifting his head from the bowl, and Yuuri crept out of the bathroom accordingly, moving light on his feet but heavy in his mind. He closed the door behind him, once again leaning his back against it for strength. He only stood momentarily, sliding down the door and flumping down on the hardwood. He hugged his knees to his chest in defeat, aching for warmth that this wintry wasteland of a house couldn’t offer him.

He’d get up and get the methandienone eventually, but for now, he could only remain seated; his durability was wearing thin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was long :0 I really tried to trim it down for you guys, but I couldn’t do much without taking away from all the major events. I hope it wasn’t too overbearing or boring! If it was, lmk, so I have notes for when I write the next chapter!
> 
> I’m glad I did research as I wrote this, because I forgot many details about Yurio’s personal life. Like that he’s canonically poor and that he's the breadwinner for his family. Oh, and that his cat’s name is horrendous. ‘Potya’ is just a nickname. The cat’s full name is ‘Puma Tiger Scorpion.’ Jesus Christ Yurio.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuri was left alone with his grandfather for a few days. Victor was left alone for an afternoon.  
> Yuuri isn't alone for a second, but it feels like he's been alone this whole time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter: semi-graphic description of Victor using his needles, Yuri discusses his ED triggers in grave detail and a lot of really triggering ED mentality is brought to light, also there is a disturbing statistic at the end-- it's a true statistic, but it's disturbing all the same.
> 
> So in case it ain't obvious... buckle your seat-belts, folks.
> 
> Oh wait! Another thing I should say is that the characters briefly mention sex! Nothing graphic, it's mostly just for comedic effect :)

The Yuris were apart from each other for the next three days.

Yuuri didn’t like it. He didn’t like having to be apart from the younger skater when they were so close to finally getting him help. He didn’t like the idea of leaving him in that Siberean shack with murky running water and no heater, with a grandfather who didn’t understand the severity of his mental distress. He didn’t like the way Yuri’s face fell when Yuuri told him he would be leaving.

But Yuuri was the one who made the decision.

Victor needed him right now. For weeks now, he had been putting Yuri first, Yuri first, Yuri first, and while Yuri definitely did require all the extra attention, he had been disregarding Victor in the process, and not without a cost. Yuuri had pushed his fiancé to the side for long enough that he had the time to develop a dependency on his steroids, which resulted in the vomiting and shaking episode after he tried to go without them.

Victor had once said that if Yuuri ever had to make a choice, he should take care of Yuri first. But that was before Yuuri had to clean up his fiancé’s puke from a drafty bathroom so small he could barely turn around without hitting the wall, scrubbing the floor with weak, watered-down chemicals with all his exhausted might, while Victor sat shirtless in the bathtub, inserting needles into his arms, on the verge of weeping with relief.

So Yuuri made the decision to retreat back to their St. Petersburg apartment for a few days. It wasn’t like they were going far, and it wasn’t like they were going to go away for long. He just felt that Victor needed stability right now; he needed a sense of familiarity and comfort.

So while Victor returned to the homeliness of their bed, Yuuri picked Makkachin up from the pet sitter at the airport, cleaned the dust that had gathered while they were away in Japan, unpacked their luggage, and set to work on researching steroids alongside his eating disorder studies. He started his mornings early and ended his evenings late, keeping the lamp on at all periods of the day, whether he was cooking Victor a meal, tidying up their unpacked luggage, or underlining a disturbing statistic in one of his books. In the brief moments of short-lived relaxation, each one barely longer than a breath or two, that Yuuri got in the day, he took the time to monitor his fiancé’s state of being.

Victor was unhappy, and he wasn’t hiding it anymore. It was odd to no longer see his fake smiles and forced positivity. He slept almost all day but stopped falling asleep at night. He tried several times to help Yuuri with his multitude of tasks, to engage him in conversation, to greet him with a kiss, but there was some kind of disconnect that neither of them could remedy. At least not right now.

By the end of their third day together, Yuuri had succeeded in establishing at least a primary stage of homeostasis. Life felt quasi normal. The apartment was cleaned but lived-in. The fridge and cupboards were housing newly purchased food. A tentative routine was in place.

On that third night, the soon-to-be-weds were dining at the table together, both of them multitasking while they ate because they were having a difficult time starting conversation. Victor stroked Makkachin under the table and Yuuri read over his books, making trivial commentary on the meal. It wasn’t until their plates were half empty that something significant was finally spoken.

“Victor,” Yuuri said, closing the third book on steroids he’s read just today, “Tomorrow I’m going to stop by Nikolai’s house. I want to check on Yurio.”

Victor nodded, but he wasn’t looking at him. He kept his eyes low, near the dog but unfocused.   
“Has he started therapy?”

“… No. Thank you for asking though. That’s sweet of you. For caring. I-” Yuuri took a breath, “I need to find a way to convince Nikolai to sign the papers.”

“Want me to go with you?”

Yuuri looked at his fiancé across the table, trying to find any kind of indicator of what he might be feeling. But Victor was unreadable. Yuuri couldn’t even tell if he looked sad or bored. He just sat there, propping up his chin with one hand and stroking Makkachin’s fur with the other, blue eyes downcast and solid.

“Um…” Yuuri pursed his lips together, “No. Thank you. I appreciate the offer, Vic. Again, that’s really sweet.”

“I love you.”

Victor had said that phrase more times in the last three days than he’d ever said it before.

“Victor, I love you, too. Will you be okay with me going away for a day? It’ll only be for a few hours. Do you think you’ll be alright?”

Victor nodded.

Yuuri sighed, “Can- May I have a verbal confirmation, please? I want to know for sure.”

“You can go. Yurio needs you,” Victor kept nodding, rhythmically, not showing any signs of stopping, “I hope he’s okay.”

“I’ll let him know you’re thinking of him.”

And that was all they were able to say before the dinner table lapsed into silence once again.

* * *

The next day, Yuuri drove out to the Plisetsky house as planned, bringing nothing with him but the clothes on his back and the only eating disorder book small enough to fit in his coat pocket--a place where no one would see it. He didn’t know what he was expecting, but he could safely assume that things weren’t the best in his time away. When he pulled the car up into the dirt driveway, he could see Nikolai chopping wood in the side yard, possessing a surprising amount of strength for his age.

“He’s in his room,” was all Nikolai said when Yuuri stepped outside to greet him. The old man turned his shoulder and got right back to work before Yuuri could even get a word out. If that wasn’t a sign that he didn’t want to talk, Yuuri didn’t know what was.

He didn’t fight it. He could try to convince Nikolai when he was ready to talk. For now, he needed to check on Yuri.

It was the first time he had ever been in Yuri’s bedroom, and miraculously, it was just like how he imagined it would be. The floor was littered with gum wrappers and plastic water bottles, abandoned athleticwear spread every which way, while his favorite high-end clothes were hung from wire on a solid bar across the wall (because he didn’t have a closet). The room, which was essentially the  _ size _ of a closet, was blinding with natural sunlight, and it looked like Yuri tried to snuff out the light by nailing a blanket to the wall just above the frame, covering the glass. But the sunlight found its way through anyway, shining through the fabric and casting a cream-colored glow across the room.

Yuri was on his bed. Or rather, he was on his mattress. Just a mattress, no frame, on the floor. 

He was tucked under askew blankets with Potya curled up against his shoulder, his eyes shut like he was napping. But he wasn’t asleep. When he heard his door open, Yuri looked over his shoulder and murmured, “Hey.”

“Hey,” Yuuri said softly. He sat down on the mattress, close to Yuri’s feet, trying to move weightlessly, “Sleepy?”

“Always,” Yuri muttered. He made a move like he was going to sit up, but decided against it and curled up again.

“Your grandfather seemed pretty upset when I last left. Did anything happen?” Yuuri asked gingerly. It was weird to consider that his friend was still a child, that he was still the age that he could ride a bus to school or get grounded should he disobey his grandfather.

Yuri cringed, baring his teeth, “He gave me ‘the talk…’”

“Oh,” Yuuri felt his face heat up.

“Yeah. It was so gross. I felt like I was gonna throw up.”

“Does he…” Yuuri felt his face turn a shade darker, “Does he even know how it works between men?”

“No, not at all. But I think he got the general idea. It was still nasty as fuck though. God, I can taste vomit just thinking about it.”

“U-Um. Okay. Well, um. If- If you ever feel like you have to ask any questions,” Yuuri rubbed the back of his neck, “You can- Um. Feel free to reach out to me or Victor, okay?”

Yuri didn’t move. He didn’t even blink. Or breathe. Like he couldn’t comprehend what he was hearing.

“You want me to come to you and Victor for sex advice?”

Yuuri waved his hands in flustered dismissal, “Don’t be so harsh about it! It isn’t, like,  _ weird  _ or anything! It  _ is _ different when it’s between men after all, it- Why are you-? It’s  _ healthy _ to talk about this stuff. I-I mean, there are  _ tons _ of things I wish I knew before Victor and I started, w- why are you laughing?”

He was laughing with one hand over his mouth, still weakly spread across the mattress. His laughter trickled out in airy wisps of breath, like it pained him; it was a stark contrast to the sharp, barking laughter he used to emit.   
But he was laughing with mirth all the same, “I’m sorry,” he said sarcastically, “but sex advice from  _ you two?  _ When was the last time you got your dick wet for Victor?”

Any other time, Yuuri would have laughed along. But the question caught him off guard.

He sincerely could not remember the last time he and Victor had sex.

He cleared his throat, readjusting the glasses on his nose. He decided not to look at his friend anymore, and chose to focus on the stained wallpaper around them instead.

“So, did you get in trouble?” he asked, “For what happened with Otabek?”

Yuri sighed, the mirth fading behind his croaky voice, “I’m not allowed to see him for a while, for one thing. And grandpa took my running shoes away.”

Oh.

Yuuri wondered why he hadn’t thought to do that before.

But then Yuuri looked into Yuri’s eyes again, and the complete and utter destitution in them broke his heart. Just looking at him, Yuuri knew he was absolutely obliterated, withering on the inside as well as the outside, and he wondered how his grandfather could stand to do something so cruel when it clearly broke the young skater so badly.

“It just… sucks, you know?” Yuri muttered, “It sucks. And I wanted to run with Beka, too. But I can’t see him. And he has to go back to Kazakhstan soon. so it all just-” a yawn interrupted him, and Potya flicked her ear in annoyance, “-everything sucks. I’m mad at Grandpa. I shouldn’t be. He sucks a lot less than most people. But I’m mad at him.”

“To be honest,” Yuuri leaned back on the mattress, “I’m pretty upset with your grandfather, too.”

“How come? What’d he do to you?” he croaked.

“Well, the last time I was here, I tried to bring up the prospect of your therapy,” he spoke delicately, carefully selecting each word, “Unfortunately, he didn’t seem too keen on the idea. I don’t think he even believes you have anorexia.”

“I never said I was anorexic.”

Yuuri hesitated, “Okay… Bulimic, then?”

“I don’t have an eating disorder.”

“…”

“…”

“ … Yurio, honey… I thought- I mean- Yurio, you  _ agreed _ to go to therapy.”

“Well, yeah,” Yuri sat up on the mattress now, readjusting the blankets as necessary, “I did. I think it’d be good. I guess. I don’t know. But I don’t have an eating disorder.”

“Yurio…”

Yuri winced at the nickname, “I have… problems with food. I’ll admit to that. I know I have a problem. A bad one. Eating is- I don’t know, it’s just hard for me. But I don’t have an eating disorder.”

“If that’s true,” Yuuri shifted closer to him, their legs almost brushing, “Why do you think that?”

“Because it-” Yuri bit down on a fingernail.

“Yurio.”

“It isn’t about weight.”

Yuuri felt the rapid accelerando of his heartbeat in his chest, the sound reverberating in his ears with a mighty crescendo.

“What is it about, then?” he asked, barely concealing his desperation to know more.

Yuri shrugged, but not because he didn’t know the answer. He just kept biting down on that fingernail.

Yuuri took his hand away, “Hey. Don’t do that. Bad habit.”

“I’ve never had a good relationship with food,” Yuri said suddenly, speaking with intent but alienation all the same, “I didn’t have a lot of it when I was younger. Hell, me and Gramps barely have any now, but it was worse when I was little. I ate every chance I got. Have you ever-”   
He stopped to smirk, but he didn’t look happy, not in the slightest, “Ever asked Victor how he first met me?”

“No,” Yuuri breathed, “Why?”

“He found me eating out of a trash can,” he still had a hint of a shameful smile plastered on his emaciated face, “It was after some skating competition banquet, outside at night. He just walked outside and found me. I was so fucking disgusting.”

Yuuri felt the impulse to say something, but managed to hold his breath.

“Obviously when I started training with Lilia, she worked to fix me. You know, ‘cause  _ ballerinas _ wouldn’t eat like gluttons,” he said the word with disdain, but there was still a sense of reverence lingering there.

“Did she… put you on a diet?”

“Yeah. But I didn’t mind at first. Most athletes go on diets for training seasons. I didn’t care,” he made a sound that was a little like a small, hoarse laugh, “Fuck, I  _ liked _ it. I was technically eating more when I was with Lilia than when I was at home. But she… I don’t know, this is stupid.”

“It isn’t stupid.”

“No, it’s really stupid.”

“Well, I’m okay with stupid things, alright? I’m right here for you.”

He took a deep sigh. Yuuri almost thought he heard his lungs cracking inside his tiny chest. He struggled to pick up the cat, but managed to get her inside his arms, cradling her in his lap when he confessed, “Lilia was kind of… I don’t know,  _ mean _ to me. I could tolerate most of the shit she threw at me, mostly just because I trusted her. She knew what she was doing. She knew how to make me win. So I respected her. She was good, but she was strict and mean. And she always had something to say about the way I ate. Like I was a pig or something. Said I ate like a plebian.”

“Oh, no,” Yuuri resisted the urge to put a hand over his heart, “That’s so- Why would she say something like that?”

“It wasn’t like she was wrong,” Yuri said, running his tiny fingers along Potya’s backside. The cat responded with gentle purrs, leaning into his touch, like she somehow knew he needed to be loved.

Yuuri felt the same way about his namesake, but was less bold, and couldn’t muster the courage to reach out and touch him right now, “And do you think that’s when it started? When Lilia started saying mean things to you?”

“No. Maybe? I don’t think so,” he pulled his cat closer to his chest, wincing at the effort, “It wasn’t Lilia’s fault. I liked her. I just hated the things she said sometimes. I hated… well, I hated a lot of shit that was going on for me at the time.”

“Like?”

“I don’t know,” he muttered, “I mean- That was like the first time in my training career that I actually had to…  _ try, _ you know? Winning came easy to me before then. That year, you guys posed such threats. You were all so… good. I hated you for that. You- All of you- You freaked me out. And it- It was also my first time living apart from Grandpa. I’d never been separated from him before. So that was… stressful. And Yakov- He didn’t think I would win, so he brought Lilia in. Trying to turn me into something I’m not.”

Potya shifted her weight on Yuri’s chest. He made a small grunt of pain under the cat’s movement, but held onto her anyway, like she was his lifesaver at sea, “I just wanted to win. They wanted me to change. They wanted me to become something worthy of idolatry. Something pristine and championing. They wanted the best goddamn prima ballerina the world had ever seen.”

Yuri remained shifted forward, his words hanging in the air, like there was something more he wanted to say but he was refraining.

“Yuri, please.”

“And I  _ wasn’t  _ that,” he confessed, all whisper and no voice, “I faked it until I made it, but I wasn’t what they envisioned. They wanted-” he clutched his cat desperately to his harrowed chest, “They expected me to be this… this delicate, tiny  _ thing… _ ”

“…”

“…”

“Yuri?”

“… and it was just really  _ hard, _ okay? Because I wasn’t. I’m not. And I might never be.”

Yuuri kept his voice quiet, his tone gentle, “So you started starving yourself… because you thought that was what they wanted?”

“No.”

Yuuri held his breath.

“I started restricting because I realized I could never be what they wanted,” Yuri confessed, his whisper breaking, “I didn’t- I don’t deserve any of-”

Yuuri seized him into an abrupt and expeditious embrace, hugging him with all the strength his messianic empathy could yield. Potya exclaimed some mewl of pique when she was squished between them, and squirmed away in that liquid way cats always do, running out of the poor excuse for a bedroom. Yuuri didn’t even register her exit; he just held onto Yuri, gripping him as a surge of apprehension overwhelmed him. He wasn’t even aware of his lunge forward, not until he was already chest to chest with his friend, his arms secured insatiably around his inhumanly small body, his nose tucked into his neck. He could feel the stuttering rise and fall of Yuri’s lungs and the velocity of blood flooding through his veins, his stomach twisting with an emotion somewhere between shock and agony.

He hugged him before he could stop himself.

But Yuri stopped him with a single sentence, “Katsudon, you’re hurting me.”

He snapped out of it, jumping back so far his head hit the wall with a  _ whump. _

“I’m sorry!” he exclaimed.

“‘t’s fine,” Yuri muttered, rubbing his ribs with the heel of his palm, “Is your head okay? That was kinda stupid of you.”

“I’m so sorry,” he repeated, sinking his forehead into his hands, “I’m sorry I never noticed how much you were suffering. I don’t know  _ how _ I didn’t-”

“-Don’t worry about it,” Yuri shrugged, picking a nail, “We didn’t really know each other back then. If no one in my close circle knew, why should you?”

Yuuri wanted to cry. No, he wanted to  _ weep. _ He wanted to bawl, and scream, and dig up the ground. But it wasn’t his place, not with Yuri, the only actual sufferer, was just sitting there so dismally, so quietly.

“Why-” Yuuri took his glasses off, wiping at his eyes, “Why did no one close to you notice?”

“I’m good at hiding things, I guess,” he started biting his nail again, but Yuuri didn’t stop him this time, “It started small. Just cutting out certain things from my diet. I moved food around on my plate and left snack wrappers in my room so it looked like I was eating. Started exercising a lot more. Lilia didn’t stop me; she liked it, actually. She just thought I was trying to get fit.”

“How much did you… How much  _ do _ you, exercise?”

Yuri smiled. It was an eerie and ghostlike smile, his thin face contorted cadaverously, his green eyes dead and dull.

“I once ran for eight hours straight.”

He said it like he was proud of it.

“Oh god, Yurio,” Yuuri didn’t even bother putting his glasses back on. He held them in his hands, tracing his fingers along the sides to give himself something to focus on, something to distract him from all the emotions simmering in his chest, “You know- You  _ have to _ know that all this- this stuff you’re doing to your body… You have to know it isn’t good for you, right? You aren’t healthy.”

“I don’t want to be healthy.”

“B-But- I mean- You can’t go on like this.”

“No, but I can try.”

Yuuri’s shock was delayed. He didn’t feel it at first. The only word out of his mouth was:

“Yurio?”

“Yeah?” the kid replied.

“May I hug you again?”

“… Yeah,” Yuri said, looking ashamed of himself, “But gentler, okay?”

He was the one to move forward, crawling across the messy blankets to sink into Yuuri’s midsection, the two of them curling up against the solitary mattress.

It wasn’t until Yuuri felt the jut of Yuri’s shoulder blade into his ribs, and the weightlessness of his frame atop his chest, that the panic finally settled in. He felt like a cold wind soared right through him, chilling him from the inside out, petrifying his entire body, all the way down to his very bone marrow.

But by then, Yuri was already sleeping, having given in to exhaustion he could no longer combat, which left Yuuri wide awake, all alone with his anxieties.

* * *

**_Anorexia nervosa,_ ** _ which we have deeply discussed in a previous chapter, has proven to be the most deadly mental health disorder in the world. With a  _ **_20% mortality rate,_ ** _ victims are likely to lose their battle against the disease either due to  _ **_health-related complications,_ ** _ or to  _ **_suicide._ **

Yuuri lifted his gaze from his book when the bedroom door opened. There wasn’t even a warning knock, Nikolai just stepped right in, a laundry basket in his hands. He halted in his place, feet drawn together, when he saw the Yuris pressed together on the mattress.

“I didn’t realize you were still here, Katsuki,” Nikolai said, “The house was so quiet.”

“My car’s still outside,” Yuuri pointed out, “And it’s quiet because he’s sleeping.”

He looked between the two of them, confused about something Yuuri didn’t care about anymore. Then he sighed, stooping down to pick up a discarded sock, “I just came to collect some laundry. He never puts his clothes away. No matter how many times I tell him, he-”

“-Your grandson is dying.”

The old man set the laundry basket to the floor, moving so slowly it infuriated Yuuri. Actually  _ infuriated  _ him. He felt rage seep through his every pore, one hand going white-knuckled around his book, the other clutched protectively around Yuri’s sleeping waist.

“Do you think I don’t know that, Katsuki?” he grumbled, speaking so tiredly it made Yuuri’s blood boil, “I’ve tried to help him. He won’t talk to me.”

“Well, he talks to  _ me,” _ Yuuri bit back.

Nikolai frowned, “He talks to you?”

“He told me everything. I know how to help him.”

He nodded slowly, lethargically, his eyes fixated on the floor, “… the therapy?”

“I need you to sign those papers.”

“Even if I sold everything I owned, I couldn’t afford-”

“-I’ll pay for it.”

He brought his gaze back up, “Katsuki, don’t fool with-”

“-I’ll pay for every cent. I’ll cover it all. I’ll even take him in if you’ll let me. You don’t need to do anything. Just sign the papers.”

He hesitated, “You’re being sincere?”

“I’m being serious. Somebody has to be,” Yuuri said underneath the delicate rise and fall of Yuri’s chest on his, “I left the papers and a pen on your table. Read them carefully. Don’t miss anything. I’d like everything signed before tomorrow.”

“Why? What’s tomorrow?” Nikolai asked, slight worry evident in his tone.

“We’re going ice skating,” Yuuri decided, “I’m taking him and Victor to the rink. Otabek, too.”

He saw the way Nikolai’s mouth twitched. But the old man didn’t say anything.

“He needs a day of joy,” Yuuri said, fighting back the onslaught of emotion that welled in his trembling voice, “He’s been through enough.”

“… Thank you.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“For taking care of my grandson,” Nikolai finished, his voice so subdued he didn’t sound like himself, “For knowing what you’re doing.”

“In all due respect, sir, I don’t know what I’m doing at all,” Yuuri said unwaveringly, “I only know that I’m doing better than you.”

Nikolai’s jaw snapped shut.

“Please go sign the papers,” Yuuri said, returning to his book, “I have some reading to finish.”

Nikolai didn’t move at first. He was dumbfounded, standing there without a sense of direction in the world. Whatever appreciation or respect he harbored for Yuuri at first, it was gone now, Yuuri could concede that. He was no longer the prim and proper perfect example for Nikolai’s grandson to follow; he was the very seam keeping his grandson together, and yet Nikolai still couldn’t see it.

But he accepted the change anyway. He tucked the laundry basket under his burly arms and left the bedroom, giving one last look of pity over his shoulder.

When the door shut, Yuri stirred in his sleep. He emitted the tiniest sound Yuuri had ever heard; it was so meek and sleepy it made something akin to maternal adoration kindle in his heart. Yuri lifted his head, straining to wake himself from sleep.

“Dedushka?” he muttered, squinting towards the door.

“You don’t need to worry about him anymore,” Yuuri murmured, putting his book to the side, “Try to get back to sleep.”

“Katsudon?”

“I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Yuri yawned, “But what about-?”

“-Ssh, ssh, ssh,” Yuuri said, “It’s okay. Just try to get to sleep. You need some rest.”

“Fine,” Yuri yawned again, defeated and yielding. He dropped his head back to the mattress, and just that tiny, miniscule movement seemed to drain him of the last of his limited energy. He practically collapsed on himself, face dropping directly onto the mattress’ surface.

Yuuri watched him give in to sleep so easily, privately wondering if he would ever sleep like that again. Reaching forward, he began to lightly run his fingers through Yuri’s hair, finding it much finer and coarser than he expected. After only a few wispy strokes, he discovered, not without a sense of horror, that Yuri’s hair fell out at the faintest touch. He sat there with a spider’s web of blonde strands in his palm, each gossamer funereal in frailness; a grave reminder of what—or rather, _who_ — was at stake should Yuuri fail to perform a miracle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Yes, that is a true statistic, the 20% mortality rate :(
> 
> Please take care, everyone!!!!! <3


End file.
